Hope is More Than Just a Feeling
by bloomingintheshadows
Summary: Fanfiction for the Israeli movie, Out in the Dark. Nimr arrives in France alone. Roy waits in jail. What can you do when life's taken everything from you?
1. Escape Trapped

**Author's Note: I absolutely love Out in the Dark, but the ending broke my heart. I couldn't find any fanfiction to give me the happy ending I wanted, so I decided to write my own. Disclaimer: I clearly own nothing since there was no happy reunion in the end.**

Roy awoke to the sound of a door slamming. It took a moment for his brain to register he wasn't in his apartment, but rather a cramped jail cell. The arm he used as a pillow was numb, and sometime during the night his blanket ended up on the floor. Sleep had been fleeting and restless, but mostly filled with thoughts of Nimr.

"Wake up, you have a visitor," the guard said loudly.

Roy sat up and tried to comb through his hair. He half expected to be hauled from his cell for another round of interrogation. For the last three days, the detectives found his answers "less than satisfactory"-a statement that made Roy smile every time he heard it.

He froze when he saw his parents staring at him through the metal bars. His mother looked moments away from tears, but his father wouldn't even make eye contact with him. Roy straightened his shoulders. He wished it had been the detective.

"What have you done, Roy?" His father whispered.

 _I fell in love,_ he thought but didn't dare say out loud. Before Nimr, his parents accepted he was gay like one accepted a wrong order at a restaurant. You tried to send it back, but once that didn't work, you bregrundently ate it and waited until the waitress was gone to complain. How could he possibly explain that he was thrilled to be in jail if it meant the man he loved was safe?

"I'm not sorry," he said instead.

His father rolled his eyes. "Of course you're not. Do you realize what this means for your career, your future? They plan on pressing charges."

Roy flinched. His career didn't matter; it always felt like something that had been handed to him rather than something he earned. Still, he couldn't go to jail. He promised Nimr he would be waiting in France. He couldn't leave him stranded in a foreign country where he knew no one and didn't speak the language.

Not that Roy could speak French, but he figured they would start over together.

"There is some good news, though," his mom said.

 _I doubt it,_ he thought. His father's hands were clasped together, chin tilted up, and focused ahead. It was the same expression he used when a client was particularly difficult or a business transaction was spiraling downhill. That what Roy was; a business transaction.

"The police said they will drop all pending charges against you in exchange for Nimr's location and your corporation in the investigation. No one has to get hurt," his father said.

Roy curtly laughed. "Except Nimr."

"He broke the law, Roy. Assaulting a police officer and hindering an investigation. Don't expect me to feel sympathetic."

"He didn't do-"

"And did you know his family was stockpiling weapons for a terrorist attack?"

Roy looked away as his stomach churned. He couldn't stop the shame from seeping through his body, tainting even the rational fragment of his brain that reminded him he hadn't done anything wrong. Nimr wasn't a terrorist, and his parents had no right to treat him like one.

His mom's eyes widened. "No, Roy…"

"You knew."

For a moment the mask was gone and Roy just saw his father. Not the lawyer or distant authority figure, but his father. And even if Roy was angry, it still hurt to disappoint his father.

A stifling silence blanketed the room until a guard entered to give them a five minute warning. His mom hid her face in her hands, but Roy still heard her crying.

"I will try to help you, Roy, "his father finally said, "If for no reason other than you're my son. But I honestly don't know who I'm looking at right now."

Roy stood up and leaned against the bars so he could look his father straight in his eyes. Any feelings of remorse or guilt faded into anger. His father spoke to him like he was a child, incapable of understanding the consequences of his actions. But, where was his father when Roy begged for his help? Things could have been different.

"I don't want your help," Roy hissed.

His father didn't even hesitate. "It's not about what you want, Roy."

* * *

The boat lurched left, and Nimr held onto the wall in order to stop himself from rolling away. For the first day or so, he'd been allowed to sit on the deck, but the closer they got to France, the more time Nimr spent quarantined in the cabin. It was dark and boring, but he felt grateful every minute. Soon he'd be in France with Roy, far away from the chaos back home.

Home. He didn't even know what that word meant now. It had never been a place, but it certainly wasn't his family. The look of disgust and horror on his mother's face was forever imprinted on his brain along with the moment Nabil pointed a gun at him. That wasn't home.

The door to his left opened and one of the men cleared his throat. Nimr never asked their names, and they never asked his. It seemed simpler that way.

"We're going to be docking in roughly six hours. If you want to see some sunlight, I suggest you go now. We'll have to block this door in case of an inspection."

"I'm fine down here."

The man nodded then disappeared. Nimr looked around the room. It was small and there weren't any windows, except for one that had been boarded up. There was a worn out couch on the wall, which Nimr had been using as a bed, plus a bathroom the size of a shoebox near the back. Maybe it wouldn't have seemed so lonely if Roy had been there with him.

He hadn't slept the last night because he was so worried. What if Roy was arrested? What if he was caught on the way to France? Was Nabil in jail? What happened to Abir? Did they arrest her?

Deep in his mind he knew it was probably impossible to contact Abir, especially after the raid on their house. However, he couldn't let go of the tiny sliver of hope that he'd see her again. Out of his entire family, it felt like Abir was the only one who ever listened to him.

Nimr took a deep breathe to calm himself. He knew he had to sleep at least a few hours or else he would be useless. Except there was one last thing he had to do.

The cramped kitchen in the boat had enough food to last a week or so. Nimir was positive they would have to restock the boat before returning to Israel, so he didn't feel guilty about sneaking some of it into his bag. He knew the limited cash he had in his wallet would be useless once he was in France, and he had no clue where to exchange it. Roy might have time to transfer some, but Nimr thought it was better to be safe.

He slipped through the door, checked to make sure no one was watching, and stuffed four bagels and an apple into his backpack. Then he retreated back into his room.

 _In six hours everything will be alright,_ he reminded himself as he sat on the couch. _Only six more hours, six more hours._

With that thought he finally drifted to sleep.

* * *

There was pounding on the door. Nimr's first instinct was to run. The French authorities had found him and were trying to send him back. Then he heard the voices and he relaxed.

"Hurry up, we don't have all day!"

Nimr grabbed his backpack off the floor and rushed out. One of the men grabbed his arm and escorted him above the deck. The light was too bright, and Nimr shielded his eyes but kept walking.

By the time his eyes adjusted, he was standing on a wooden dock. The town in front of him was empty except for a few women huddled around the shop. The buildings were too close together, and the bus stop looked moments away from falling apart. Nimr had never been so happy to see something in his life.

"This is where we're leaving you."

"Thank you," Nimr said.

The man nodded like he was unsure how to respond. Then, before Nimr could say another word, the man was gone and the boat was pulling away.

He located a bench under a tattered green umbrella and sat down. He took a quick glance at his phone thinking Roy might have called, but it was dead. But Nimr knew he'd be there; he promised. All he had to do was wait.

An hour passed.

Then two.

He walked through a few shops thinking perhaps he'd somehow missed him.

Suddenly it'd been four hours. Nimr wanted to ask around, but he was surrounded by people speaking rapid french.

Five hours. He sat on the bench watching a boat or two leave and return to the dock. A woman tried to ask him someone, but he couldn't understand her, so she left him alone.

Before he even realized it, six hours passed.

A feeling of dread formed in the bottom of his stomach. Roy wasn't coming.


	2. The Waiting Game A Fresh Start

**Author's Note:**

 **I am so sorry about the random nonsense that was displayed on this page**. I have no clue what happened, and I would have fixed it earlier if I realized. My apologies. This is what was supposed to be on there. I am adding one OC character, maybe two...don't panic. I tried really hard to write it without, but I think it's pretty unrealistic to keep Nimr in a bubble. From what I understood in the movie he doesn't speak French, and the story wouldn't be realistic or interesting if Nimr just lived in his head.. Either way, they will only be minor characters, but let me know if they're turning into a Mary-Sue.

* * *

Nimir stared out at the dock until the sun was swallowed by the horizon. Some fraction of his brain still believed if he waited long enough Roy would magically appear in front of him. But that hope was fading fast. Roy shouldn't have had any trouble making it from Israel to France. He certainly had the money, and there shouldn't have been any obstacle stopping him from boarding a plane.

Every one of his nightmares started to assault his brain. He imagined Roy in a prison cell being interrogated by detectives, losing his job, his friends, his life...all because of Nimr. How was he supposed to live with that? Roy was all he had left. What was he supposed to do without him?

Nimr noticed a few dark figures walking his direction, so he grabbed his backpack and moved out out sight. He fumbled around inside his wallet to see if he felt any cash or spare coins. It didn't matter anyways. He highly doubted there was someplace to exchange currency.

"Fuck," he whispered.

The town seemed to be completely asleep except for one building, probably a restaurant, with all its' lights still on. Despite the fact the temperature was dropping, Nimr didn't dare step inside. The police weren't going to quit looking for him just because he left Israel, and he wasn't about to raise suspicions.

Instead, he settled for sleeping on the bus stop bench. It was moments away from collapsing, but there was a roof and some cover from the wind. His backpack substituted as a pillow, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

em Don't let anything happen to Roy./em

Roy felt his father, not so subtly, crush his foot. He snapped up to look at the prosecutor sitting across the table. She was a middle age woman with her hair tied back in a tight bun and not even a hint of warmth on her face. Roy missed most of the conversation between her and his father, but he hoped the fact his father wasn't flustered was a good sign.

"My client is willing to comply with the terms presented," his father said.

Roy was speaking before he even realized it. "No, no I'm not."

"Yes, he is."

"No," Roy growled, "I'm not. Nimr isn't a terrorist."

The woman placed her hands on the table and looked directly at his father like Roy didn't even exist.

"No one wants your son to be arrested. He's a bright young man with a great future ahead of him. We already suspect Nimr Marshrawi is in France, but we don't want to waste resources searching the entire coast."

"I don't know where he is," Roy lied.

That was the first time the woman made eye contact with him. "You aided his escape. Don't pretend you don't know where he is."

Roy shrugged and looked away. He tried not to let her see how nervous he was. What if Nimr hadn't gotten to France? What if the police found him? Roman had done much worse things than smuggling; Roy's firm had vindicated him on much worse charges, but Roy was never personally involved in his business. Every minute felt sickening.

"My client has already be thoroughly interrogated multiple times. I don't know what you expect to get out of him."

"He was at the location where police attempted to apprehend Nimr Marshrawi, and he ran when confronted. Plus, it was noted that they were...involved."

"That evidence is circumstantial at best."

Roy ignored whatever was said after that. He knew he should pay attention, but he was exhausted. The meeting with the prosecutor was running late into the night, and there was no coffee to keep him awake. He was used to working late, but sitting in a cell staring at the patterns in the wall drained any energy he had. emJust make it through this/em, he reminded himself.

His father talked for another twenty minutes before the woman decided there was another case that demanded her attention. She told them a guard would be in shortly to take Roy back to his cell. His father smiled and shook her hand, but didn't turn to Roy until the door closed.

"I hope you're grateful for all the help I'm giving you."

"I am," Roy said.

He knew his dad thought he was lying, but he wasn't. Sure, he and his dad never saw eye to eye, but his dad still gave him a job and was helping him out of jail.

"Then start acting like it. Don't mouth off or try to justify your actions. Keep telling them you don't know anything and let us do the rest."

Roy nodded just as the guard came in and motioned for Roy to follow him. Unsurprisingly, his father has no emotional goodbye for him as he was lead away in cuffs. Roy thought that was probably for the best.

* * *

Nimr woke up to someone gently poking his face. He quickly opened his eyes to see a small girl with blonde hair standing over him. She said something in French but all Nimr heard was gibberish.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. There was a group of people standing at the bus stop, but none of them seemed to take an interested in him. He smiled at the girl and tried to escape as quietly as possible. It was definitely morning, but the sun had yet to warm the air or cast more than a few rays of light on the town.

If the circumstances had been different, Nimr would have found it peaceful. But his stomach growled, and he needed to find a bathroom. The same restaurant that was open the night before seemed have an open sign on a window. Nimr put his hood over his head and slipped through the door. He went to the back of the room and avoided eye contact.

He tried to leave in under ten minutes, but once he was outside he realized he had nowhere to go. Without money his only options seemed to be walking or trying to convince a stranger, who did not share the same language, to give him a ride. He knew he couldn't stay in the town. It was on the coast, right where police would expect him to be.

After pacing down the sidewalk for five minutes, Nimr slumped against the wall and slid down. How was he going to survive alone? Did he just escape Israel only to die in France?

As Nimr contemplated his options, he saw an elderly woman cross the street and walk towards him. Everything in him said to run, but he refused to budge. He needed to remain stopped in front of him and gave him a sad smile. Then she pulled a bill from her purse and dropped it at his feet.

Nimr realized she thought he was a beggar. He tried to explain to her that he didn't want the money, but she just smiled and walked away. Nimr looked at the bill at his feet. Less than two weeks ago, he was on track to graduate from a good school and find a career. Now, he was reduced to begging on the street. The idea sickened him, but at this point he begrudgingly accepted it. He only needed enough money to buy the bus ticket that would get him the farthest away from here.

So for the rest of the day he sat against the wall in silence. A young woman gave him what he thought was about 1 euro, and a group of kids shyly gave him 5 euros before running away. Nimr didn't expect anyone to be that generous, but it seemed that the entire town pitied him. By noon he thought he had about 15 euros, which he prayed would be enough for a bus ticket.

There was a small ticket counter just to the right of the bus stop. Inside there was a list of five stops, the coordinating prices, and the times (at least that's what Nimr they were). He couldn't tell which one was farthest away, but he inferred it was probably the most expensive. According to the sign that bus left at twelve thirty-five.

Nimr tried his best to pronounce the name of city and laid his bundle of cash on the counter. Thankfully the man seemed to understand what he meant and gave him one paper ticket and some change. He said something else, but Nimer didn't understand.

The blue bus pulled up to the station at twelve forty-five. Besides Nimr and the two other people at the bus stop, the bus was empty. Nimr sat on one of the worn seats and leaned his head against the window as the bus pulled away.

He watched as the dusty town gave way to rocky mountains and green grass. Eventually, all he could see was rolling green hills. Under normal circumstances, he would have found it relaxing. It was so much different than Israel.

In total, the drive took about two hours. Nimr thought it was wasteful to send a bus so far for such a small number of people, but once they arrived, there were at least a dozen people waiting at the bus stop.

This town was much nicer than the one he had been in. The bus stop was right in the middle of a colorful town square with a cobblestone street and several buildings. The whole town was nestled inbetween two green hills, and he could see houses scattered in the distance.

His stomach growled. He only had one flattened bagel left, and it did not look appetizing. Without being able to read the signs, he inferred the blue building with the muffin on the sign was a bakery. He prayed he had enough change for something to eat.

The bakery smelled like fruit; sickenly sweet fruit. It was a single room painted bright yellow from wall to wall. There were four small tables and a white counter that ran along the back of the room. Behind the counter was a variety of French words written on a chalkboard.

There were two people in front of him; a woman and a young boy. While the girl behind the counter was busy filling a cup of coffee, the boy reached out and snatched two candy bars off the rack.

Nimr couldn't explain what he did next. The boy turned to run out the door, but Nimr swiftly grabbed one of his arms; not enough to hurt him, but tight enough he couldn't escape.

The girl behind the counter immediately noticed and rushed over. Nimr didn't know what she said, but it involved a loud voice and finger pointing. The boy gave her back the candy bars, and she shoved him out of the store.

Then, she turned to Nimr. She started smiling and talking in rapid French. When she paused, Nimr realized he was supposed to say something. He tried to just nod his head and shrug, but that didn't work. She reached out to touch his shoulder like she wanted him to go somewhere.

"I'm sorry, I just don't understand what you're saying," Nimr finally said in Arabic.

The girl stopped talking. Nimr started looking for a quick escape, but she smiled again.

"You speak Arabic? I speak a little too," she said.

Her pronunciation was far from perfect, and her word order was definitely not correct. Plus, she missed a verb or two. But she spoke slowly, and Nimr was able to piece together enough words to create a sentence. He'd never been so happy to hear someone speak Arabic in his entire life.

"Thanks. He's been taking stuff for months," she said.

Nimr nodded.

"Are you the person who bought the Durand house?"

"No. I just got here. I...umm...escaped a bad home situation."

Nimr figured that wasn't exactly a lie. And it's not like he could tell her the truth anyways.

"There are no hotels here," she said.

It took Nimr a few moments to realize what she said, but once he did he just nodded. In the silence he took some time to actually look at the girl in front of him. She couldn't be older than twenty with plain brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. There was nothing remarkable about her, but Nimr still wanted to throw his arms around her and hug her.

"Are you just going to sleep on the street?"

She sounded angry, but she just looked more shocked. Nimr was embarrassed to admit that she'd probably see him sleeping in front of her store later that evening. He wanted to leave.

"Well," Nimr said, "I hope you have a good day."

He tried to leave, but she grabbed his arm.

"I'm not going to let you sleep on the street, especially not after you helped me catch the thief that's been stealing my expensive candy bars."

The last part of the sentence might have involved something about potatoes, but Nimr didn't correct her.

"That's okay, I'll be fine."

The girl frowned and crossed her arms. Nimr should have just left, but the cold gaze she was giving him made him freeze in his spot. He felt that if he moved, she was going to pounce on him.

"I don't own the bakery, I'm just running it for a retired couple. I need help organizing the bills and receipts, so it's not in shambles when they return."

Nimr felt happiness building in his chest; something he hadn't felt in days. Even if he didn't have a place to live, a job was the best thing he could ask for.

"There's also a spare room upstairs. If you don't turn on the lights or use the upstairs bathroom, I'll rent it to you in exchange for working half salary."

Nimr paused. emDid she just offer me a place to live? Does she know that's what she just offered?em

He repeated every word back to her in order to make sure he hadn't misheard. He even took a pen and wrote it out on a piece of paper to double check. She just raised her eyebrows and nodded.

"Thank you," Nimr finally said, unable to control the smile on his face.

"No problem. I need someone to boss around."

Nimr laughed. "What's your name?"

"Margot. You?"

"Nimr."


	3. A Travel Guide and Bills to Pay

**Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long to get posted. Life has been so stressful lately, but I'm back on track. Enjoy!**

"This is probably the best we can do. You'll have to spend three weeks in jail and provide information about Nimr's whereabouts, but it won't go on your permanent record. If we keep this quiet, you should be able to return to the law firm without a problem," Roy's father said.

Roy rubbed his hands together and nodded. The small square room, where Roy was allowed a forty minute meeting with his father, was dimly lit and only contained a metal table and two chairs. Someone had turned the air conditioning on high, forcing Roy to tuck his hands in his sleeves. He had the distinct feeling it was intentional.

Roy didn't miss the bags under his father's eyes or the way his voice sounded like it was slowly dying. The guilt was back, stronger this time. Roy should have handled the case himself. He should have just told his father to stay out of it. This was Roy's fault, not his.

"They...haven't found him yet, right?" Roy asked.

His father blinked. "No."

Roy breathed a sigh of relief. Nimr made it. He had to have made it. Maybe he was alone, but he was free. Maybe he could figure out a way to wire him money or find housing. But he couldn't do anything from jail, and his parents were more likely to place a tip with the authorities than help him.

Suddenly, Roy's father glanced around the room and nervously fiddled with his pen. Roy furrowed his eyebrows. Why was his father nervous? Had he heard something? Did Roman say something to him about Roy's involvement?

"I'd like to think we've raised you to be a honest law abiding citizen. But they're not going to let this go. I don't know who the detective is, but he's obsessed. Don't tell your mother I said this, but tell them what they want to hear."

Roy froze. "No. I'm not going to let them intimidate me."

"This isn't about intimidation, Roy. I know you think you're some type of martyr, but once that wears off, you'll realize you're stuck in a cold jail cell."

"You told me to stay quiet; don't give them any information."

"Don't be stupid, Roy. You've worked on enough cases for Roman to know when to withhold information and when to give just enough to satisfy them. Lie to them if you have to. I don't care."

Roy was about to protest, but the door to the interrogation room opened. His father gathered his papers and briefly nodded at him. Roy felt like he should say something; thank you seemed appropriate. But he couldn't bring himself to say a word.

There wasn't so much as a goodbye before the guard was escorting Roy back to his cell.

* * *

Nimr's new room was the size of a closet. Not even a large closet. In fact, Nimr swore there was a mop resting against the wall. The only piece of furniture was a mattress covered in a dusty tarp and a wooden chair. But Nimr wasn't about to complain.

Margot told him the bathroom was downstairs and that she wanted him in the kitchen (clean and shaved) at five o'clock the next morning. If he didn't show, she was turning him out on the street. Nimr was thankful he was too rattled to sleep because without an alarm he couldn't get up after the last few days.

Margot tried to say something else, but gave up when it became clear Nimr had no clue what she was saying. After that, it was just him. Alone.

He carefully removed the tarp from the mattress and stuffed it into a small nook that he assumed was supposed to be a closet. Then he dumped everything out of his backpack. The wallet, phone, keys, charger, and even a book. He wished he had a picture of Abir and his mom; he'd even take one of Nabil. He just wanted something to remember his family. Or Roy.

In an effort to look somewhat presentable in the morning, Nimr folded his clothes (except for his boxers) near the edge of the bed. He missed the smell of the jacket...Roy's jacket. He'd give anything to know what happened to him. Even if he made it France, he'd never find Nimr now.

The first time he'd found someone who loved him, it was brutally ripped away from him.

* * *

Nimr slept just enough to not fall over in the morning. He didn't know what time it was when he woke up, but his window let in just enough light to let him know it was morning. He wasn't about to be late so he forced himself to the downstairs bathroom to wash his face and make himself presentable. There wasn't a shower so he managed the best he could. It wasn't perfect, but he figured it was the best he could do.

Luckily, Margot was already awake. Or at least he thought he could hear her in the clock said four forty five, but Nimr felt it was probably best to arrive early.

He pushed open the wooden door behind the counter and almost fainted. The small kitchen had an oven, sink, and several metal racks that leaned against the wall. The oven was covered in flour, the sink was filled with enough dishes to cause an avalanche, and Nimr distinctly smelled burning.

"Oh! You're here!" Margot said, popping out from behind the dish rack currently in the center of the room.

Nimr nodded.

"So, I'm not the best at _organization_. That's your job."

Nimr glanced around the room again. All those years in school, and he was becoming a cleaner. He couldn't imagine the agony on his mother's face if she saw him now.

Margot handed him a few cleaning supplies before she dashed off to gather various ingredients for something. Nimr reluctantly bowed his head and headed for a dish rack.

"Germany. I paid for transportation to Germany," Roy said.

The investigator raised her eyebrow and tapped her pen on the paper. She didn't look convinced.

"Germany? France and Italy are closer, and there's no overland travel required. Why Germany?"

"It's far enough from Israel, where no one would ever look. I didn't want him to have to worry about police."

Roy could hear his father shifting in his chair, and he cringed. Even as the words left his mouth, Roy knew he was screwed. To be a lawyer, especially with his father, meant lying on more occasions that he was comfortable with. Yet the one time he wanted, _needed_ , to lie, he couldn't even muster something halfway believable.

"So, what next? Hotels? Apartments? Do you have friends there?"

Roy shrugged. "I thought I could figure that out later."

The unspoken truth hung in the air around them; Roy had planned on leaving too. _We_ , not _I._ Maybe Roy could fool them into believing Nimr was on a course to Germany, but he could never hide the fact he planned on leaving the moment they let him out from jail. It was present in the way he paced his cell and stared at the travel magazines a guard left on his desk. All he needed was a plane ticket.

"Where in Germany? Which town?"

Roy blinked, and his mind went blank. He hadn't thought that far. He was so stupid! Of course they would ask that!

"Nimr...was supposed to text me. He was supposed to tell me where he went."

"To the knowledge of our investigators, you have not received such a text. Any ideas why?"

Roy shook his head. He swore he could see the edge of a smile on the woman's face. She knew he was lying.

"My client has cooperated with your investigation to the best of his ability," Roy's father interjected.

"No, Mr. Schaefer, I don't think he has. When Roy provides us the exact location he planned on meeting Nimr Marshrawi, we will go through with the terms of the agreement."

The woman gathered her papers, stood up, and walked calmly to the door. The click of the lock echoed through the cold room.

"A text? A text, Roy? You couldn't think of one city!"

"I blanked."

"Then just say Berlin! Do you not know the capital of Germany, Roy! Don't tell me you went to law school for that performance!"

"I'm sorry."

Roy's father shook his head while he slowly slid his pen back into his briefcase. Roy hung his head.

"Don't be sorry, Roy. This is not my life we're trying to save."

Roy felt he should say something, but nothing came out. He silently watched his father stand and prepare to leave Roy alone once again. Maybe he'd just blown his only chance at freedom. Anything he told the investigator would face scrutiny.

"Saarbrucken," His father said.

His back was still turned to Roy, and his hand was on the handle.

"It's a large city on the border of France and Germany. You sent him there."

Roy nodded. "Okay."

That was the last sentence his father said before the door opened, and he disappeared.

* * *

Nimr's knees ached. The kitchen wasn't dirty per say, but he found receipts and bills crammed into every empty jar and drawer. Margot knew how to bake and keep the customers happy, but from what Nimr could tell, she was dangerously close to letting the finances descend into chaos.

"Don't put the small bowls so close to the ground or I'll never see them," Margot said.

Nimr glanced down to bottom shelf, where he'd stacked twenty five small silver bowls. He sighed and began to remove the stacks. Everything he did was wrong. First, it was the silverware, then it was the cups. It wasn't his fault he never spent time in the kitchen...that was always Abir's job.

It took everything in him to remind himself to be thankful. He would have been dead in a ditch if Nabil simply aimed the gun a few inches higher. He could have drowned in the ocean or been captured by French authorities. Nimr was alive and free; that's what counted.

"When are these bills supposed to be paid?" Nimr asked, holding up a crumpled piece of paper.

Margot blinked a few times and tilted her head. "Are those bills? I thought I paid rent."

"These aren't rent. They're a pre-payment for next week's shipment of flour. It's due tomorrow."

Margot pursed her lips. Nimr reached for another piece of paper he'd originally discarded as unimportant. It was another bill, except this time it was for leasing the building. Nimr suddenly realized all the crumpled papers were probably bills of some sort. How could she run a business without paying the bills? What about taxes and loans?

"I can organize these for you. Maybe put them in a folder or on the computer where you can see them all."

Margot smiled. "I guess you only have to clean for a few hours a day. I need a secretary too."

* * *

Roy was only allowed a few books in his cell. His mother brought him a mystery novel and a biography about Queen Elizabeth. But his dad...his dad brought him a travel guide of Europe. Roy didn't know if that was supposed to be a gift or was simply meant to taunt him. Either way, Roy spent hours flipping between the pages that outlined the French coastal cities. He knew where Nimr was supposed to end up, and so far he figured there were three dozens towns he could have gotten too with a limited cash supply. Roy would check all of them if he had to.

* * *

Margot didn't own the bakery. She was watching it for an elderly French couple that liked to travel (she said they traveled to petting zoos, but Nimr was pretty sure that's not what she meant). She learned Arabic when she spent a semester in Egypt during college, but was not used to holding a conversation. Nimr didn't ask how she ended up here, but he got the distinct impression it was of her own accord.

Nimr received his first paycheck two weeks early. He showed up to work wearing the same clothes for four days before Margot harshly told him he was going to start spreading diseases. She showed him to the washer and dryer, which he was allowed to use once a week, and gave him his paycheck in order to buy some clothes.

He was careful to save some of it and only buy two shirts, underwear, and another pair of pants. He kept the rest of the money, which wasn't much, under the mattress in his room.

Half of his day was spent organizing the kitchen, and restocking the case when they ran out of food. The other half was spent trying to figure out which bills needed to be paid when, and what profits the store was making. It would have been a lot less stressful if Margot hadn't misplaced the majority of the receipts.

Most days he only spoke to Margot. It was lonely, and Nimr thought about Roy and his family more times than he could count. He missed Abir's smile and the way they stayed up late together. He missed waking up next to Roy and curling up against him. He missed the sun and the desert. He missed school and his friends. He missed home.

But his life was here now, and he was going to survive.


	4. Communication and Freedom

Roy pointed to the large dot on the map. "Here. He's going here."

The investigator nodded and wrote a few notes down on her piece of paper. Roy could feel his father tensing beside him. Roy had already proven he was an unreliable source; if the investigator didn't believe this story, there was very little chance he would be released.

It had taken nearly a week for Roy's father to convince her to return. She was skeptical Roy had just suddenly decided to turn on Nimr when he'd spent time and money meticulously planning his escape. Roy knew it was suspicious, so he spent every night repeating his story until he could recite it with perfect tone and pacing.

"Why Saarbrucken? It's a large city with probably thousands of police, and it would take at minimum of eight hours to get there from the coast. That's a risky journey."

"Everyone would look in the coastal cities. In a big city, it would be easy to get a new identity. Then maybe, he could have moved across the border to Germany where no one would look for him."

Roy dipped his head like he was defeated. He'd seen enough criminals sitting in his office to know the facial expressions that looked the most convincing. Any flinching or hand wiggled signaled a lie, but there was a sweet spot where the voice cracked and the eyes watered just enough.

"Were you planning on leaving as well?"

The question shouldn't have caught him off guard, but his hands froze, and his jaw clenched. The idea had hung over the interrogation from the moment it started like a storm cloud waiting to burst. He tried not to appear shocked, but he knew it was a lost cause.

"I fail to see how this is relevant. My son has provided you with all the information you requested."

The woman coldly smiled. "We're trying to establish whether or not your son is a flight risk. I'm not going to release him just so he can flee to country and help Nimr Mashrawi disappear."

"There are ways to ensure he stays in the country. I believe my office will be sending you the paperwork for an ankle monitor later today."

Roy's head shot up, and he couldn't disguise the look of horror on his face. With an anklet there was no way Roy would be able to leave Israel. Every day he was here, it became more likely Nimr would disappear forever...if the police didn't find him first. Then all of this would be for nothing. The only time he'd be allowed to see Nimr would be through a glass window.

"The department would have to review whether that's an appropriate option. But, given the circumstances, we would be much more willing to free Roy if we could guarantee he stays in Israel."

Roy wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up and shout at his father that he wasn't going to be put on a leash like a dog. Roy had someone to fight for, and he wasn't going to just abandon him. This was his life.

But he held everything in. He wasn't going to risk losing Nimr forever.

"I will notify your office later this afternoon once we validate whether or not Roy's information is credible. I would hate to have a repeat of last time."

The woman began to gather up her papers, but Roy was too stunned to move. He didn't even try to look at her as the door clicked shut.

"Don't worry about them validating evidence. She just wants to make you sweat a little."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Roy snapped.

"Excuse me?"

Roy violently stood up, sending his chair squeaking backwards. Any self restraint had boiled away, leaving only raw hatred.

"You could have gotten me off without some fucking tracking anklet! We've gotten Roman's friends off without so much as a fine, and they've done a hell of a lot worse!"

Roy's father's eyes narrowed, but his face didn't portray any emotion. That upset Roy even more. Didn't his father see that Roy was happy? He'd finally found someone who made him feel a dizzying array of emotions he didn't even know he had. How could his father be so blind?

"You've proven you are completely incapable of making rational decisions. Both of us know that the moment they let you out of this cell, you'll be on the earliest flight to god knows where with some fugitive," his dad said sternly, no emotion showing on his face.

"You said three weeks in jail, and that would be the end of it. What happened to that agreement?"

"Don't point the finger at me, Roy. You are the one who put us in this position. I thought we could put this ugly incident behind us, but you're just too blinded to move forward. This is not a discussion. You will not throw away your entire life!"

His father took a deep breath started to gather his papers without even a twinge of emotion on his face. Roy's gut instinct was to throw something.

"Your mother and I have decided it's best if you moved home for a while. We've sublet your apartment and packed your things. Assuming the department signs the papers, you should be out tomorrow to the day after."

Roy was silent as his father picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. Roy refused to make eye contact even when his father briefly paused. It wasn't until he heard the door slam shut that every hateful emotion inside him burst, and Roy blindly kicked at the metal chair.

He was going to go from one prison to another.

* * *

Nimr still had Roy's business card. He'd thoughtlessly stuffed it in the front pocket of his backpack after their first night together and forgotten about it. It wasn't until he finally started removing his few possessions from his bag that the crumpled white paper caught his eye.

For twenty minutes he'd sat on the mattress in his room staring at the tiny printed letters _Roy Schaffer. Lawyer._ Every couple seconds he would glance at his phone (still uncharged) and wondered if it was worth making a call. He wouldn't use his own phone of course, but Margot had a cell phone. Or he could get on a bus and buy a burner phone.

But then Nimrs brain would jump to the worst case scenario. Was it paranoid to think the police would monitor Roy's office phone? He knew he couldn't call his personal cell, but...Was he in jail? It had been a month since he had left Israel. Roy's dad was a lawyer. If Roy had been caught, they would have let him out right?

There was a dark thought creeping into the back of his mind. What if Roy changed his mind? What if he decided that Nimr wasn't worth throwing his life away? Roy could choose someone who wasn't destined to live the rest of his life in hiding. Truthfully, he'd be stupid to come.

Nimr stuffed the business card back into his backpack before his brain could drag him into a spiral of unhappiness.

There was a knock, and Nimer quickly tucked the card into his pocket. Margot opened the door, but didn't come inside. Nimr's stomach dropped when he saw her frown.

Nimr lived in a constant state of fear. Every noise in the night sounded like policemen, and he couldn't sleep more than a few hours at a time. It was lucky he ended up in a small town where the nearest police station was twenty minutes away. Every time he saw Margot on the phone or a woman at the grocer gave him a second glance, he thought he was done. It would be so easy for this fragile life he'd built to crumble to dust.

"The water heater died,' Margot said, "I don't have the money for a new one, but a friend of mine knows someone looking to sell theirs. It's a four hour drive to the city. We leave first thing in the morning."

* * *

"The anklet has been set to an incredibly generous radius. You can travel anywhere within Tel Aviv, but we'll know if you step a centimeter outside the city. It needs to be charged every 12 hours, so watch the blinking lights. The device will alert us to a dead battery," The man said.

Roy nodded along even though he wasn't listening. The heavy black plastic was strangling his ankle, and Roy resisted the urge to kick it off. The only thing keeping him calm was the fact they'd given him back his clothes-Nimr's clothes. The scent clung to the fabric just enough for Ro to bury his nose under the shirt collar and breathe.

His parents were standing across the room, waiting to drive him back "home." His mother was fidgeting with some of her jewelry, but his dad looked calm and collected. Roy wanted to shout at them. Scream at them until his throat was hoarse. They couldn't chain him here forever even with tracking anklets and handcuffs. If his father thought Roy was going to stop fighting, he didn't know him as well as he thought.

Margot talked on the phone for the entire ride. Nimr leaned his head against the car window, listening to a stream of French words he didn't understand and watching the green and yellow scenery. He wished he'd brought a book or magazine even if it was written in French. Without some task in front of him, Nimr's mind wandered and it wasn't to a good place.

He often found himself wondering if he was being punished or rewarded. On one hand, it was a one in a billion chance he'd end up meeting somebody who spoke his language and was willing to offer him a job and an apartment. He'd practically been handed a new life on a golden platter. But nearly everyone he cared about was in prison or worse, and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. He didn't even know where his own sister was.

A large pothole jolted him out of his thoughts. Nimr shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket to distract himself. Inside were two folded pieces of paper. One was Roy's business card. The other was a list of French words he'd looked up the night before; "burner phone," "prepaid," and "long-distance" among others.

A part of him knew it was stupid to reach out. At this point Roy had most likely moved on, and he couldn't reach out to his family without risking being found out. He knew how they treated terrorists. But any logical part of his brain was stifled. He was lonely.

Three hours later, Nimr awoke from a restless sleep to the sounds of car horns. It was almost intimidating to see tall shining metal buildings and colorful bursts of people after his quiet existence.

Margot parked the car outside a large apartment building and turned to him.

"Back here at 1:30."

Nimr nodded and before he knew it, they were both in the mist of businessmen and fast walking pedestrians. Margot disappeared into a blue building, and Nimr started looking for the closest store with phones. He was tempted to walk directly into the first phone store he saw, but then he realized he would have to deal with salesman. Instead, he opted for finding a general store.

It took Nimr twenty minutes to find a place with cheap prepaid phones. He couldn't tell the differences between the brands, but he settled on the least obnoxious wrapping and politely asked (in the best French he ever spoke) the young woman behind the best to activate it.

By the time he was standing outside with the phone in his hand, he could hardly think. He could call Roy. He could call his friends back home and ask them about Abir and his mom. Finally.

His body moved independently after that. Roy's business card was out of his pocket, and he dialed the number without hesitation. He never hated the sound of a ringing phone so much in his life. By the time he heard the cool voice of Roy's secretary, his stomach was halfway up his chest.

"Hello, could I speak to Roy Schaffer please?"

The was a gaping silence. Nimr panicked. Had he said something wrong?

"I'm sorry," the secretary said, "He's not able to take any cases or consultations at the moment. Could I refer you to our senior partner?"

"No, no. Could you tell me when he will be available?"

More silence.

"Mr. Schaffer will unfortunately be out of the office for an indeterminate amount of time due to personal reasons. Are you sure I can't refer you to our senior partners. They are just-"

"Thank you, but that's not necessary. I'll call back another time."

Nimr hung up the phone before she could respond. He took a deep breath and tried not to panic. Roy was not okay. Jail was the most probable answer. But maybe Roy hadn't given up on them. Maybe there was hope.

* * *

"I prepared your room. I moved all those old boxes out and changed the bedding, so it's clean," His mom said.

Roy saw how hard she was trying to smile. She talked the entire car ride home while his dad's eyes were firmly on the road. Roy knew he should say something, but he couldn't summon the energy. He didn't want his old room. He'd been desperate enough to leave it when he went to university. His stomach turned at the thought of returning.

"I thought that you and I could go to breakfast tomorrow. I can't remember the last time you and I had any time together."

Roy leaned against the window. "What about work?"

His mother nervously glanced at his father. That caught his attention. Roy sat up and did his best to meet his father's eye through the rear-view.

"I don't want you making a ruckus at the office. You can go back to work once everything is settled."

"You can't keep me here forever," Roy snapped.

His mother looked terrified. But his dad just looked ahead.

* * *

The next number Nimr dialed was his old neighbor, Ahmed. His mother forced him to memorize Ahmed's phone number when he was a child in case of an emergency. This was not what she had in mind, but Nimr hoped that Ahmed had heard something about his family.

"Hello?"

"Ahmed, it's Nimr."

Silence. But this time it was worse, more sinister. Nimr prayed Ahmed's phone wasn't tapped or that Nabil hadn't gotten to him first. He needed some confirmation his family was alright.

"Nimr. I thought you'd dissapeared," Ahmed said.

His voice didn't portray a single emotion. Ahmed was always like that; completely monotone, no matter what the circumstances.

"It's more complicated than that. Have you heard about Abir? Or my mom? Nabil?"

"They're going to let Abir out soon. It looks bad to keep a young woman like that. Maybe your mom too."

Nabil's name was absent, and Nimr understood that for what it was. He breathed a sigh of relief. Abir was going to go free. She could go to college, find a job, and have a family. Her life wasn't ruined. She was going to be alright.

"Could you give her this number when she comes back?"

Silence.

"Please, Ahmed. I just-I just want to talk to her."

Ahmed sighed. "Alright."

* * *

Roy leaned against the doorframe to his old bedroom as his mother placed a box of clothes on the bed. In the time he'd been away, his parents had somehow managed to pack up his entire apartment into thirty-seven boxes. Sixteen of them were currently in storage, along with all his furniture. The rest were in a nice little pyramid in the center of the room.

"Won't it be nice having someone to cook dinner for you? I can make all your favorites."

"Feels a lot like prison to me," Roy mumbled.

His mother froze. Then, she slowly removed one of Roy's shirts from the box, hands trembling. Roy bit his tongue. He shouldn't have said anything. She was just trying to cheer him up.

"Stop it. You've put this family through enough already."


	5. The Edge

Roy tapped his foot under the table. Two cups of untouched coffee sat on the table before him, and he saw the waitress approaching to ask if he wanted a pastry. Roy smiled kindly, but he wished she'd just let him be. It was the first time since his arrest that he'd been allowed to sit outside, feeling the sun and wind on his face. Silent and alone. He'd never realized the value of silence before.

Roy had been "home" a week. A week of strained family meals and forced outings where nobody spoke. A week of restricted cell phone use and open doors like he was a teenager. A week of random interrogations that never lasted long because his mother because his mother would burst into tears. A week of sitting near an outlet so his anklet could charge. A week of looking out the window, wishing he could have run a little faster.

His father forbid Roy from leaving the house unattended. However, it upset his mother when he'd curl up on the couch all day and refuse to speak. When his dad left for work, she agreed to let him go to breakfast on the condition he returned in an hour with receipts.

The first thing Roy did was withdraw seventeen-five shekels from his bank account; nothing large enough to raise alarm, but just enough to start saving. Hopefully, he'd soon have enough money for a one way plane ticket.

Then he called Roman.

Roy leaned back in his chair and looked at the people freely strolling down the street. Roy shifted in his seat, nervously. Roman was ten minutes late, and Roy didn't have that kind of time to spare.

Five minutes later, Roman calmly walked through the restaurant doors to the patio. He nodded at Roy before taking a seat and pushing away the lukewarm cup.

"I thought you would have left the country by now."

Roman waved at the waitress.

"There were some...complications," Roy said as the smiling waitress brought them two steaming cups of coffee.

Roy waited until she left and then tugged at the bottom of his jeans, briefly exposing the bulky plastic. Roman raised his eyebrows, but didn't say a word. Roy looked back out at the street. A family was happily

"Do you know a way to remove it?" Roy asked.

Roman studied him for a moment, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Roy wasn't sure how far one favor extended. Roman had already done enough for him, and it was possible he no longer had time to help Roy. It wasn't like they were friends. This was merely a business transaction.

"Roy, if living as a fugitive was easy, people like your father wouldn't exist. I don't know what happened between you two, but there are plenty of other lawyers in this country. Your father had competition, didn't he?"

Roy sat back. He'd been so desperate to leave jail and find Nimr that he only thought of his father. After all, his father had given him his job and even paid for his first apartment. Roy had always been able to lean back on family when he needed them. He thought this time would be no different.

"You're a respected lawyer with no priors. For anyone with experience, you're an ideal case."

Roy nodded. Why hadn't he thought of this before? His father never wanted to help Nimr when he was in Israel. This was his battle. He couldn't cower behind his father every time something went wrong.

"I wish you the best of luck, Roy. We all deserve a bit of happiness."

Roman took one last sip of coffee and stood up. Roy watched him stroll out and disappear into the crowd. Roy waited for the waitress to give him the receipt, but he was nearly jumping out of the chair.

There was one lawyer his father who his father always hated; who Roy hated. It was ironic this was now his best hope.

* * *

Nimr helped Margot load the water heater into the trunk, and they bought sandwiches for the journey back. Nimr tried to be calm, but the phone was burning in his pocket. Abir could call at any time.

Maybe he could never return home. Maybe he could never hug his mother or taste her cooking. But all his worry and sadness would be alleviated if he could hear Abir's voice. If he was lucky, one day, when Abir was older and able to travel, they might be able to meet face to face.

"You seem nervous," Margot said.

"No, no. I'm just...hopeful."

Margot smiled. "Good to know."

Nimr looked at her. She was tapping her fingers on the wheel to the beat of a French song like she had no care in the world. Nimr wondered where she'd gotten that.

"Margot, why'd you help me? I could have been, well, a serial killer."

Margot stopped humming. She turned down the radio and pursed her lips.

"Because somebody once did the same for me."

* * *

David Friedman's office overlooked a harbor ten minutes from Roy's apartment-his old apartment. Roy never understood when his father's rivalry with David began, but David was a perpetual thorn in the law firm's side. Roy and David had been on opposite sides of the courtroom multiple times, and Roy distinctly remembered him trying to steal clients. There was something oddly satisfying about making an appointment with him.

The entire week after his meeting with Roman, Roy was on his best behavior. He set the table for his mother and actively engaged in conversations. He asked about his father's clients, and as the ultimate concession he unpacked most of his bedroom.

The effort paid off, and his mother let him out for the entire afternoon. It felt sort of cruel to trick them into believing he was going to stay, but Roy wasn't a kid. He wanted to find out what it meant to have his own life, free of his parents and their expectations.

His appointment was in eight minutes.

David Friedman's secretary recognized him as soon as he stepped off the elevator. He barely had time to breathe, before she was shoving him across the waiting room and through a glass door.

"We can call security if we have to," the woman said, pulling the door closed.

Roy was frozen for a moment, but he turned around when he heard a grunt. David Friedman was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, holding a thick file. His glasses sat low on his nose, and his grey hair was frazzled. A permanent frown rested on his face.

"I must admit I was slightly concerned when I saw your name in my calender," David said.

"Well-"

"If this is about the Roth case, tell your father that I simply offered a better price. He's never had the best business sense with the prices he charges."

"It's not about that. I want you to take my case."

For a split second David's smirk dropped. "Your case?"

Roy shyly nodded and stuck out his ankle, shaking it a little for emphasis. David no longer looked surprised, but he put down the folder. His eyes sharpened on Roy as if he didn't quiet trust him.

"Forget to pay a parking ticket or something?"

"No. I was...helping a friend get out of the country."

David laughed. "Smuggling! Good to see you branching out from the family business."

Roy wanted to relax, but he couldn't. He didn't even know if it was worth coming. If his father found out, Roy would prefer to return to jail than see the look on his face. That was assuming David was willing to take him.

"Roy, as satisfying as it is to see you ask for my help, there are better options. Your father practically swindles his clients, but I'm sure he'd make an exception for you."

"I already tried that, and I wound up wearing this shit on my ankle. He wants to trap me here."

David leaned back in his chair. Roy knew David was waiting for him to break; to reveal an ulterior motive or start an argument. Roy refused to even blink.

"I'll admit," David said, "I'm intrigued. It'll be full price though, plus a service charge."

"I'll pay whatever."

"Well then, tell me what crime led Roy Schaffer to my office."

* * *

The next Tuesday, Roy found himself in David's office eating a takeout salad. David was skimming through two yellow files that Roy was not allowed to touch. He wasn't allowed to touch anything in the office actually.

"Good news is that I believe we can sweep this whole matter under the rug. There's no direct proof of your involvement with Mashrawi's escape to begin with, and to anyone outside the police, that confession easily looks coerced."

"So, you can get this thing off me?"

"Give me a week or two, and I believe I can. Nobody wants this case to see the light of day. You're much too likable for judges to convict."

Roy looked down. He could practically taste freedom. He'd been withdrawing money at every opportunity, and there was a packed duffle bag in his closest. Once the ankle monitor was removed, there was nothing stopping him from buying a plane ticket to France.

"Are they going to track me if I leave the country?" Roy asked.

David shrugged. "Probably not. I wouldn't recommend going directly anywhere, but in a few months you'll just be a forgotten file number in the storage room."

Roy sighed in relief. He could take a flight to Italy first and then to the location he was supposed to meet Nimr. He didn't know what he would do once he got there. Nimr was obviously long gone, and Roy had no means of contacting him.

"What about Nimr?"

"The Mashrawi boy? His main concern is assaulting an officer, which our government does not take lightly."

"What about the terrorist charges?"

"If we arrested someone every time their sibling committed a crime, most of the world would be in prison. He's somewhere in Europe, right?"

Roy nodded.

"Find a human right's activist. They live for sappy crap like this."

David tossed the files on the desk. Roy blinked a few times. A few more weeks, and he was going to go free. Completely free. No anklet, no charges, nothing. Just a new life waiting for him in France with the person he loved.

Roy jumped up from his chair and rushed to the door. He still had things he needed to do. Buy a French dictionary, make a travel map, and start converting money to Euros. As soon as the paperwork was signed, Roy was leaving. He wasn't going to give his parents time to protest.

However, he stopped just as he was going to open it though. Some part of him was still convinced this was going to fall through; that the police wouldn't let him go or that his father would sabotage his efforts. He'd have to be stupid to trust David completely.

"You're not going to tell my dad about this, right?"

David raised an eyebrow. "You are a grown man, Roy. I am under no obligation to tell your _father_ anything, assuming you are finally ready to cut the umbilical cord."

 _Stupid question,_ Roy thought. But David was still looking at him, arms crossed waiting for an answer.

"I am. Ready, I mean."

"Good," David said, "Now, get out of my office."

* * *

Nimr used to love watching his mother cook. She was always in a good mood, whether she was cooking breakfast or desert. He'd listen to her humming from the living room and watch her happily mix flour and sugar.

He hated kitchens now, and not just because they reminded him of his mother. His only purpose was to clean flour off the floor and rearrange mixing bowls. School was virtually impossible because he'd never be able to get his records or produce proper paperwork. Even getting a real job would essentially require forgery.

A bell rang as another customer opened the door. Nimr couldn't see them from the backroom, but he heard bits and pieces of their conversation. His french was improving slightly, and Margot said once he could use basic phrasing she'd let him out of quarantine. That was all he had to work towards now.

Nimr ran the cloth over the counter again to clean any remains of flour off. Then he was going to wash the bowls currently stacked in the sink. After lunch, he'd repeat the whole process again when Margot had to restock the shelves.

Suddenly, his pocket began to vibrate. Roy dropped the cloth and wrestled the phone from his back pocket. He didn't recognize the number, but that didn't mean anything.

He quickly closed the door to the kitchen and took a deep breathe. Then he hit accept.

"Nimr?"


	6. France

Abir's voice was quiet, but it was distinctively hers. Nimr's fingers went numb around the phone, and everything around him seemed to fade. He knew he should say something, anything, but he couldn't. It should have been easy. This was his sister. But Nimr was frozen. His jaw seemed to be wired shut, and his brain felt scattered.

A bell rung from somewhere in the bakery, and Nimr nearly dropped the phone. However, the noise broke him from his daze. He took a deep breath.

"Hi," Nim choked out.

Then Abir was crying; loud ugly sobs that carried through the phone until Nimr was crying too. Then he started laughing because he was in France, and Abir had probably just left a detention center. Here they were talking through a burner phone, and the only thing he could say was 'Hi.'

"I thought you were dead. Everybody just acted like you'd never existed, like it was normal. They raided the house and-"

Her sentence became intelgiable after that. Nimr wanted to hug her and make her forget the last few months. She was young. She shouldn't have to worry about her family's safety or whether or not she would see them again.

"I'm okay, I promise. Nabil...let me go. I'm more worried about you. Are you alright? Mom? Do you have someplace to stay?"

"I'm staying at a friend's house until they release mom. Nabil's been charged." Abir's voice faltered, "I don't think he's coming home for a long time, Nimr."

"I know, I know."

He tried not to think about it. Nabil may have been his brother, and he may have let him live. But Nimr remembered Mustafa and the guns in their home. He remembered not recognizing the man his brother was, like he was living with a stranger. Refusing to murder his own brother in cold blood because he was gay didn't negate Nabil's crimes.

"Where did you go?" Abir asked quietly.

"I can't tell you. But I'm safe for now."

Nimr didn't want to make any false promises. Even if he found a lawyer, there was no guarantee the French wouldn't prosecute him. Maybe if Roy had been there, they could have figured it out together. But Roy wasn't here.

"I want to see you," Abir said

"Me too."

"We have some money tucked away-"

"No, no. I have a job, so I can send money. We'll wait until this settles down. Just focus on school and mom. Nabil's arrest will be hard for her."

There was silence. Nimr hated silence. Silence never lead to anything good. Sometimes it meant that he had to repeat his sentences several times so Margot could understand. Other times it meant people were watching him, trying to figure out if an outsider should be trusted.

"She still loves you, too. It might be hard to believe, but you didn't see her face when Nabil came home. Your room's still there, just as you left it."

"Yea."

Nimr agreed with her quickly because he didn't want to talk about his mom. The thought that she loved him and could still let Nabil take him was painful. This was the woman who raised him, loved him, encouraged him. Yet, she was going to let his brother execute him.

"I can call next week. This number will still work right? " Abir said.

Nimr could hear muffled voices through the phone, like Abir was standing behind the door. He wanted to beg her to stay on the phone a little longer, just so he could remember her voice; commit it to memory. It had been so long since he'd been able to hear fluent Arabic. It felt like having a sliver of home.

"Call when you can. Just don't tell anyone, not even mom. I don't-it's just not the time."

Abir's voice was barely a whisper. "Alright."

"I love you."

Maybe it was idealistic, but he thought he could hear Abir smile.

"I love you too."

Nimr could hear Margot's voice drifting closer and the unknown voices through the phone were getting louder. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He refused to hang up the phone until the kitchen door swung open.

* * *

Roy expected his release to be dramatic. He imagined there would be yelling or some sort of threat. After all the interrogations and negotiations, it had seemed like Roy's prospects were dim. Maybe David was a better lawyer than his father, but Roy had been let down too many times to get his hopes up.

He set out from his parent's house that day, expecting to return home for lunch and pretend he hadn't spent his morning bartering for his freedom. It was a slow day in city, so Roy calmed himself by walking through the quiet streets. David met him at the door to the prosecutor's office, dressed in a casual suit with a smile on his face.

The anklet was tucked under his pant leg, but Roy caught the prosecutor glancing at it as she escorted them to her office. Roy was tempted to cut it off and run, but he kept hearing Roman's words in his head. He couldn't help Nimr if he was a fugitive too.

Throughout the meeting, Roy struggled to keep from bursting. He knew the prosecutor was trying to bait him; speculating that Nimr only used him to escape, bringing up possible jail time-anything to get a rise out of him.

But every time David interjected. The ever present smirk never left his face, even as they accused Roy of aiding and embedding a terrorist. In the end, Roy had to concede it was probably for the best that David forbid him from speaking. As the clock inched towards eleven, Roy could see the frustration on the prosector's face.

"You have bullied my client into a confession because you know that you have no information on Nimr Marshwani's whereabouts. I'm sure that must be frustrating."

The prosecutor pursed her lips. "We have substantial-"

"In addition, you have no evidence to connect my client to any crime, other than the suspicions of a corrupt detective. Mr. Schaffer has spent his life putting away criminals and has a squeaky clean record. You have no case that could stand up in court."

The prosecutor was emotionless, but Roy could see the defeat in the way her hands flinched and her shoulders slumped. He forced himself to stay calm even though he was ready to jump out of his seat.

"Well, Mr. Schaffer has already given us his information. I'm sure we can remove the anklet soon."

"Today," David corrected.

"Mr. Friedman, we cannot-"

"Unless you want your department facing a lawsuit, you will halt any investigations into my client and see that this unlawful tracking device is removed."

Roy held his breath. He was so close. So close to walking free. So close to getting on the first plane out of Tel Aviv.

"Have Mr. Schaffer wait here."

The woman gathered up her files and left. Roy could see David smiling out of the corner of his eye, but Roy couldn't relax. He put his head in his hands and tried to breathe.

"Look how much you can accomplish with your mouth shut," David said.

Roy tried to smile because David just wanted to distract him. But every moment they were alone in the room, Roy couldn't focus on anything except the ankle monitor. What if they didn't remove it? What if all his sneaking and colluding was for nothing? What if Nimr was long gone and Roy was destined to return to Israel alone? What-

David clapped him on the back. "Don't look so nervous, Roy. It's suspicious."

"Sorry."

"Just relax. Unlike you father, I know what I'm doing."

Roy couldn't relax. But he forced himself to bottle it inside. It only took one slip, one fumbled sentence, for everything to crumble.

The woman returned twenty minutes later-a tactic that was meant to make Roy sweat. He didn't bite.

"Given Mr. Schaffer's cooperation with the investigation, we are willing to release him and drop all charges."

She slid a piece of paper in front of Roy, but David snatched it. David quickly scanned the paper and crossed something out.

"Remove this provision, and my client will glady sign."

The woman frowned, but took the paper and stood up. She left the room in a flurry.

"What's the issue?"

"Restricting your travel rights. Nothing to worry yourself with. They're testing our intelligence."

Roy nodded. When the door opened, he flinched. He couldn't help it. He was so close.

David read the paper again and hummed in approval. He nudged the paper in front of Roy and handed him a pen. Roy signed without hesitation.

"Wait here. I'll send someone in to remove the anklet."

Roy leaned back. It was over. Everything was over. He was free. No anklet, no parents breathing down his neck. Nimr was a plane ride away.

* * *

There was a hill just behind the bakery where Nimr often ate lunch. It was quiet, and he could see over the town square to the winding road that carried the busses. He had made himself a niche in between two browning trees so that he wasn't visible to the people below.

That afternoon Nimr requested and extra long lunch break and came up the hill to phone Abir. Their mom wasn't out of prison, but Abir was back in school. She promised him she would be top of the class so she'd eventually have enough money to visit him.

Nimr gave her vague details about his life so she would stop asking. One moment they'd be laughing about something from years ago and the next he'd hear Abir trembling through the phone. He wondered if their conversations would always be bittersweet.

* * *

Roy stood on the sidewalk just outside the prosecutor's office. His ankle was bare with nothing but a red mark to indicate something had ever been there.

Roy thought he would feel an uncontrollable sense of joy or excitement. This was what he'd been losing sleep over every night for a month. But all Roy felt was calm. Everything moved slower, and he felt as if he were in a fog.

Suddenly, there was a loud grunt.

"What did I tell you? Could your father do that? I think not."

"Thank you."

David laughed. "Hold onto that thought as you read the invoice."

"I mean it, though. Thank you."

David scrunched his eyes like he was hesitant to say something. It was an odd look on someone who emulated confidence.

"Roy, you're a smart young man. But where you're going, there is no safety net. Your father can't swoop down to bail you at after every mistake. You're responsible for your own actions and fixing your own problems."

Roy ducked his head and nodded. He knew what would happen when he left. But it didn't worry him. He no longer felt the need to turn to his father to save him.

"I'll keep that in mind."

David smiled. Then he removed a small slip of paper from his jacket and handed it to Roy. On the paper were a set of names, phone numbers, and email addresses.

"It's a list of human rights lawyers in France."

"I'm not g-"

"You're not that smart, Roy."

David held out his hand, and Roy firmly shook it. David gave Roy one last smirk, and then he was walking down the street, leaving Roy alone.

* * *

Abir never talked about Nabil. Nimr didn't know if that was because she didn't know what happened to him or she was too upset to tell him. For a while, Nimr tried not to think about it. Nabil only brought back bad memories, and his trial probably wouldn't effect Nimr. Nimr was a lost cause as far as Nabil saw it.

But curiosity finally got the better of him, and Nimr eventually found the nerve to search Nabil's name on the library's sole computer.

15 years. 15 years behind bars. Nabil's trial was only a day.

Nimr sat back in his chair. By the time of his release, Abir would be grown with a husband and children. Would Nabil even recognize her? How could their mother handle waiting 15 years to see her son? She'd already lost one, Nimr wasn't sure how she would handle losing another.

* * *

Roy's mother was in the kitchen when he came home. He'd stopped by the bank on his way back and purchased several Hebrew to French dictionaries (along with one Italian and one German). He wasn't sure when he was going to leave yet, but he hoped it would be within the next week.

Yet, as Roy leaned against the doorframe and watched his mother chop salad, he finally felt a wave of sadness. Realistically he knew he wasn't abandoning his family, but when he walked out that door there was a good chance his father would never speak to him again. It hurt more than he thought it would.

"There you are, Roy. Your father's coming home early today so I thought I would make lunch."

She strolled across the kitchen and pulled him into a tight hug. Roy kissed her cheek and tried not to break when she patted his shoulder. Then, she was back to slicing tomatoes and onions.

"Do you want to...charge that before you father comes home? We might be going out to dinner."

It took Roy a moment to realize she was talking about his anklet. He almost told her everything right then, but Nimr's face flashed into his mind, so he stayed silent.

In a terrifying moment, Roy realized that this might be the last week he spoke to his mother. He wasn't just leaving his father. There was no guarantee his mother would even look at him again when he got on that plane.

"I'll be down in an hour," Roy said.

That's how he found himself sitting on the floor of his bedroom, right by the anklet's charger. He could see the duffle bag in his closet and half of him wanted to just grab it and go. He didn't want to see his mother cry.

But then Roy reminded himself of his plan. He already enough money withdrawn to pay for the bus fares, and he had selected eleven French towns that he had to check. First, he would fly to Italy and then take a bus to France to avoid anyone tracking him. Hopefully, someone had seen Nimr. Else this whole ordeal was for nothing.

* * *

It was funny how packing in two large duffels bags made Roy reconsider what he valued. Clothes were the first to go. He could buy more of those in France. Next, he discarded any books aside from his dictionaries. Maybe it was stupid, but he packed the small things that used to be on his bookshelf and other sentimental items. Anything he could bare to part with had to stay. After a week of packing and unpacking, Roy was happy with the random assortment of things in his luggage.

His flight was scheduled to depart in three hours, and he hadn't told his parents. He didn't want to give them time to fight with him or call the police. Mostly, he feared that if he was given enough time with his mother, she might convince him to stay.

Roy slung one bag over his shoulder and pick up the other one. He took one last look at his room before heading downstairs.

His parents were at the kitchen table discussing vacation plans when Roy stepped through the door. His father took one look at him and violently stood up.

"Where do you think your going?"

"I told you that you couldn't keep me here," Roy said.

"If you take one step outside this country, the police will hunt you down."

Roy gently pulled up his jean leg, letting his father see his very bare ankle.

"Did you cut it off? Going to live as a criminal for the rest of your life?"

"It turns out there are plenty of lawyers in this country. All you have to do is pay them."

Roy father didn't seem to know how to respond. His mother was shaking, and she wouldn't look at him.

"Don't expect any heartfelt goodbyes from us," His father snapped.

Roy gripped his bag a little harder. He wasn't going to break. He wasn't.

"I'm leaving, and you can't change my mind. So you can either stand there or give me a hug."

That seemed to bring his mother back to the conversation. She stood up and wrapped Roy tightly in her arms.

"I'm not going to prison or disappearing forever. I'm just going across the ocean," Roy whispered.

His mom sniffled a little, but didn't respond. Roy didn't know how long they stood there, but eventually she let go and held him by his shoulders. There was tears running down her cheeks, but she was clearly trying to remain pressed her palms against Roy's neck. Then she gently kissed his forehead.

"Wherever you end up, you be good. Make me proud."

Roy smiled at her, trying to tell her that she didn't have to worry. He wasn't throwing away his life and everything they'd given him. He was finally taking that jump and becoming his own person.

For a split second, Roy thought his father might say something. But his back was turned to Roy, and he wasn't moving. Roy refused to let it upset him.

"I love you, and I promise I'm going to be alright."

With one final glance at both his parents, Roy turned around and left.

* * *

"Are you lonely?" Abir asked.

Nimr was quiet for a moment. He didn't want to upset her by saying that he was always lonely, even back home. But now it was infinitely worse. His French was improving to the point where he could comfortably hold a two minute conversation with the grocer, but it wasn't enough. He missed being around people who knew him, who loved him.

"Sometimes," He said.

* * *

Roy spent the plane ride memorizing French words and listening to the CD he'd bought with the dictionaries. As long as he kept focused on a task, the tiny pit of fear in his stomach was dormant. He didn't want to think about everything that could go wrong.

When Roy's bus stopped, he was so engrossed with memorizing the word 'seen' that he didn't even notice that he'd finally arrived. The bus driver announced their location, and Roy jumped, causing his book to fall on the floor.

He looked out at the town in front of him. The dock was full of small fishing boats, and people were smiling in the street. This is where Nimr had ended up two months ago, alone.

As Roy stepped off the bus, he looked around.

 _I can do this. I'm going to find him._


	7. Home

Roy stood in front of the bus station comparing the destinations to the ones on his list; eight of the eleven were on the board. He'd spent a little time looking around the town, but he thought it was a waste of time. If he'd been the one here two months ago, he wouldn't have stayed more than a day. Port towns were exactly where the police would have started looking.

The main issue was that Roy had no idea how much money Nimr would have had. He couldn't decide if it was better to start at the farthest town and work backwards or if he should start at the closest. Either way Roy seemed to be destined to waste time. At one point or another he'd have to travel all the way back here in order to reach every town. And that assumed Nimr hadn't been moving.

Behind him, a man in a suit grumbled and motioned forward. Roy realized the line had moved forward without him and he was holding up the half dozen people behind him.

Roy stepped forward to the counter, suddenly feeling anxious and irritated. He didn't have the patience for a long bus ride. He'd been waiting in a jail cell, waiting at home, waiting on the plane, waiting on the bus. He just wanted to start doing something, anything, useful.

He ended up paying 10 euros for the 1:30 ride to the closest town.

* * *

Nimr dreamed about Roy. A lot. At first it had been a nice respite from the nightmares about Nabil and Mustafa. But then he woke up alone too many times and the dreams were only a reminder of what he lost.

The dreams were tolerable though. Nimr could get up in the morning and drown himself in dish soap. He was becoming an expert now in repression.

What he couldn't deal with were the small things. Like when he'd see a couple having coffee together in the morning or when he saw a family smiling on the street. He couldn't just wake up from the those moments and roll over. They attacked him randomly when he was restocking muffins or buying groceries. He never realized how much he missed those simple things until they were gone.

* * *

Just as Roy feared, the first town was a failure. It was larger than he expected, so it was impossible to check every house. But he'd been strategic; he'd talked to grocery shops, clothing outlets, and pharmacies. The kind of places Nimr wouldn't be able to avoid.

Roy didn't think his French was that bad, but he'd had to repeat himself a few times. Eventually, he resorted to having people write their answers and then translating from there. He didn't have a picture of Nimr, so he was limited to his broken French.

No one had seen him. One pharmacy clerk thought the description matched a waiter, but it wasn't Nimr. Roy even sat outside a diner for over an hour, hoping to catch a glimpse of black hair. But it was hopeless.

By 3:00 Roy was back at the bus station. He could reach five of the nine towns from here. The closest one would take forty-five minutes. He realized this was going to take so much longer than he'd ever imagined.

At 7:30, Roy had to admit defeat for the night. He'd visited two more towns, but Nimr wasn't in either of them. The next two were close, but not close enough. Buses didn't run after seven and there was no chance of finding Nimr at night.

He rented a motel room and flopped down on the bed. The springs dug into his back and the light switch was permanently stuck at 'on'. The room above him was blaring a television program, and in the distance Roy heard shouting. His chances of actual sleep were slim.

In hindsight, Roy was stupid to believe that this would be easy; that all the puzzle pieces would come together just like that and they would be together. David was right; Roy was naïve and idealistic. It was his first time truly alone, and he already felt like he was fucking it up.

If he couldn't handle finding Nimr, Roy didn't know how he expected to handle whatever came next. He job prospects were non-existent until he learned French, and his savings were decent, but not enough to support two people for more than a few months.

Maybe his father was right.

* * *

"Mom's home," Abir said.

Nimr took another bite of his sandwich. He'd been expecting that, but by now Nimr had learned any mention of his mother was always going to hurt. Some of it might fade over time, but not all. Not even close.

"How is she?"

"Sometimes I think she's fine. She gets up and makes breakfast and asks me how I'm doing."

"Goo-"

"But then she'll make pancakes for four and the batter will sit there all day unless I clean it up. And when I come home she stares out the window in complete silence for hours. I wish she'd just cry or scream or do something. It's like half of her isn't even there anymore."

Nimr sighed.

"She needs time. Focus on you. Don't let this ruin your life too," he said.

Nimr hated that he wasn't be there for Abir. He couldn't hug her or make sure she was looked after. He never imagined being that brother that only called a few times a week. He was supposed to be more than that.

"She's going to see Nabil on Friday. He gets thirty minute visits. I think I want to see him too."

Nimr knew she was asking for his approval. She was probably thinking about that night and the Nabil she'd seen. But Nimr didn't want to drag Abir down with him. She deserved to remember the loving family they'd grown up with, not the mess he left behind.

"He's your brother. He loves you. And he's done a lot of bad stuff, but it's okay to still love him too," Nimr said.

Nimr heard shuffling on the phone. Abir didn't deserve this. His mother didn't deserve this. Even if she couldn't bare the thought of looking Nimr in the eye, he didn't want her to suffer. He wished he had stopped Nabil before he saw the weapons. He wished he could have protected them.

Not that it matter now though.

* * *

Roy woke up when a water droplet landed squarely in his left eye. He groaned and rolled over to see that it was just after six. The next bus left at eight. It was the last bus ride under an hour. Then he had to go back to the coastal city and start again.

As he sat up, he looked around the room. If he left now, Roy could be back in Israel by the end of the day. His mother would probably hug him and force him to stay for dinner. His dad might be cold at first, but he'd be secretly excited Roy was back. After a while, they'd probably start talking like Nimr had never happened.

But Nimr did happen. As much as Roy longed for some sense of home, he knew he wouldn't find it back in Israel. He wanted waking up in a warm bed with Nimr under his arm or sprawled out next to him. Roy wanted to be a realist, but some part of him fiercely clung to his idealist dreams. He wanted all the stupid domestic things like breakfast and fighting over doing the dishes.

So, he stood up and reached for a fresh shirt. He had to go forward.

* * *

After every paycheck, (delivered in cash to save Margot the paperwork and Nimr the stress of forging a bank account), Nimr spent about half on making his room less of a broom closest. He tucked the other half under his mattress, waiting for a reason to use it.

But after he hung up with Abir, Nimr took out all the money he'd made. Nimr knew he'd never have a purpose for that money. His bedroom couldn't fit any furniture, and he never felt the need for decorations. He still secretly hoped that this was all temporary and one day he'd have his own apartment. But the longer he as here, the more that seemed like a naive dream.

He placed all the cash in an envelope and labeled it 'Abir.'

* * *

The grocer shook his head at Roy and gave him a pitied look. Roy sighed. He'd travelled for two hours to get here, and it was another hour back to the coast. He'd been hoping this was it. It wasn't.

He settled for buying a bag of chocolates and sitting at a local café for lunch. No buses connected to the next town, so he was back to square one. The next bus left at three, so Roy still had an hour to wait. He took out his list of cities and the guidebook he bought at the airport.

He'd been productive that morning and already checked two towns. The first one had been barely big enough to walk through, so Roy was able to leave almost immediately. He'd been hopeful about this one; the town, called Mariris, was far enough away from the coast, but cheap enough to reach without much money.

That put his total count at five out of eight. He couldn't reach the next town before nightfall, so he prepared himself for another night of loud noises and flashing lights.

* * *

"Why is there flour all over the floor?" Nimr asked.

A thick layer of white coated the entire front of the kitchen. The spoons looked like they were drowning in their cans, and he was never going to find the cookie cutters. Even the ceiling looked suspiciously pale.

"Don't look at me. Your cleaning clearly needs improvement," Margot said.

Roy was still half asleep when he boarded the eight o'clock bus for the town of Villeurseau. He'd overslept and been forced to skip breakfast. The bus was crowded with people, and Roy ended up sitting next to a young woman and her daughter. At one point, she tried to speak to Roy. But he told her, in Hebrew, that he didn't understand.

Maybe she said more, but Roy had already drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"You're late," Margot said.

Nimr rubbed his eyes. It was ten o'clock, four hours past his usual start time. Margot stood in the now spotless kitchen, arms crossed. Apparently, they were not going to discuss how he was scrubbing flour off the ceiling until 3AM.

"We need more flour. A lot more. The eggs also seem to have run out. I'll need more by lunch."

Nimr expected her to hold out a list and send him off to the store as punishment. After all, he had left her completely alone for the morning rush. However, she turned back to the counter and started sorting all the silverware into the appropriate container.

"Should I call the grocery store?" Nimr asked.

Margot sighed. "Take a day off. You've worked everyday for the last two months."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Go to the library. Take a walk. Have a real lunch."

Nimr paused. Relax. He wasn't sure if he knew what relax was anymore. Every moment he spent alone he thought of Abir and Roy or his mother and Nabil. How could he relax when he dreamed about Nabil aiming the gun right between his eyes and Roy locked away in a cell? Everyone he loved was having their lives destroyed. Nimr didn't know if he ever would relax.

But he couldn't explain that to Margot. So he took a deep breathe and tried to look grateful as he nodded.

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning," Margot said.

Nimr awkwardly shuffled out of the kitchen and into the hallway that lead upstairs. He was tempted to spend all day in his room, but he wasn't going to spend all his time moping. Not after what Roy did for him. So, Nimr picked up his backpack and slipped out the front door of the bakery.

The morning rush was already over, but there were still a few people ordering coffee from the bakery or waiting for a bus. He wandered for a while, occasionally waving at a familiar face. It was nice to recognize people even if they only knew him as the man who restocked biscuits.

Nimr eventually found himself outside the library. It was a small brick building, completely engulfed by trees. Every time Nimr saw it, he thought of the future he might have had. Once in a while, Nimr wondered if he could enroll in school again. He probably already forgot half his material, and he had no way to get a recommendation.

But Roy had been so sure it would be okay. He'd talked about human rights' groups and lawyers. Nimr thought about requesting a textbook or two from the library. Maybe it would never go anywhere, but it would give him something new to learn. Maybe he could do more.

* * *

Roy nearly tripped off the bus as he struggled to wake up. The sunshine was too bright, and all he wanted was a few more hours of uninterrupted rest. His arms ached from carrying his bags everywhere, and he had half a mind to ditch one of them.

He away from the bus stop and dropped one duffle on the sidewalk. He rolled his shoulder and looked around. The town was small with only a few people drifting through the town square. The buildings were various bright colors and clustered tightly together.

Then, his stomach grumbled. Any plans were overtaken by the want for a proper breakfast. The first place he spotted was a blue bakery, where he could clearly see a display of muffins. One stop wouldn't hurt.

* * *

Nimr looked down at his new library card and smiled. He'd managed to order two psychology books that would arrive next week. Maybe it was pointless, but if he ever wanted to stop living and working at a bakery, he'd have to keep on top of his studies and learn all the terminology in French. He wanted to believe he could still be more.

Nimr tucked the card in his pocket and looked up. The next bus wasn't due for another three hours so the town square was mostly empty. However, there were still a few people sitting on the benches or stopping for brief conversations. Nimr stuck to the sidewalk, but he looked over at the people and smiled. Most of them recognized him now even if it was only as the man in the kitchen.

Then, something solid slammed against his shoulder. Nimr realized he hadn't even been watching the sidewalk. He spun around, an apology already on the tip of his tongue. But he never got that far.

Roy. It was Roy.

Roy stared back at Nimr, eyes wide and jaw slightly ajar. His hair was sticking out every which way, and his stumble had grown into light beard. Nimr awkwardly lurched forward, but couldn't make himself close the distance between them. The only thought Nimr could summon was that all the cold loneliness was finally starting to catch up to him. His dreams had escalated into cruel hallucinations just to further taunt him.

But Roy started moving and in three steps Nimr was engulfed in warmth. He'd spent so much time over the last two months feeling cold that warm felt foreign. Some part of him didn't know how to react, while the other just wanted to lean closer. It was the scent, though. That's what did him in. Roy didn't smell the same, but under the heavy scent of cheap shampoo, Nimr smelled home. It was the scent he'd woken up to in Roy's apartment and craved every day since.

Nimr clung to Roy's waist, relishing in being able to hold something solid and real. This is real, this is real.

"I've missed you so fucking much," Roy mumbled.

Then, Roy was kissing him, and the none of Nimr's dreams compared to that. He felt desperate, digging his hands into Roy's hair just to convince himself he wasn't going to disappear. Maybe it was rough and sloppy, but it was filled with so many emotions that Nimr thought he might explode.

"I love you," Roy mumbled between kisses.

Roy pressed their foreheads together, grinning in a way that burned away every shred of loneliness and hurt. He gently reached out to run his fingers along Roy's jawbone and his shaggy curls. He needed to know this was real. It had to be real.

"I thought I'd never find you," Roy said.

Nimr smiled. Hearing Hebrew again only made him want to curl up against Roy and never let go. It reminded him of what home felt like.

"What happened?" Nimr asked.

"Later. I just want to see you."

Roy kissed him again, and Nimr agreed the talking could wait. They 'd waited so long for this moment. They deserved a moment for themselves; to just enjoy being together before the real world intruded.

"Do you want to go somewhere?"

Nimr suddenly realized they were blocking the sidewalk and several people were staring at them. He politely nodded at the few people he recognized, but his head was bustling with too many other thoughts to think correctly. But he knew he didn't want to stand in the public square; they needed somewhere quiet.

"Follow me," Nimr said.

Roy grabbed a duffel bag off the ground, and Nimr quickly lead him through an alley to the backside of the town square. Roy dropped his bag by the back of the bakery, where Nimr could hear Margot in the kitchen. He was tempted to go inside, but decided his apartment's cramped Then, he grabbed Roy's sleeve and started up the hill.

It shouldn't have taken that long to get there, but Roy was glued to his back and kept pressing sloppy kisses against his cheek. It was nice to let himself laugh when Roy tripped him or when Nimr was so busy smiling at him that he nearly sent both of them over the side. He wasn't worrying about Abir or the police or his mom. He felt normal. He felt safe.

When they finally reach the top, Nimr latched onto Roy's shirt and pulled him to the ground. He refused to let go of Roy's hand, just to make sure Roy wasn't a hallucination. But every kiss, every touch, every breathe, made him feel like he was awake; like the last two months had only been a nightmare.

Eventually, Nimr ended up on his back with Roy's head resting squarely on his chest. The sun beat down on his eyes, but Nimr didn't care. All he cared about was the warm weight on his ribs that had yet to disappear.

"I haven't slept properly in a week. I'm pretty sure the last bed dislocated my back."

"Don't get your hopes up. You'll be lucky if both of us can fit on my mattress."

Roy tilted his head up and smiled. "It's alright. You're a pretty good pillow."

 _I could get used to this,_ Nimr thought, absentmindedly playing with a blade of grass near his head.

Nimr had sat at this exact spot maybe a dozen times for lunch. It had always been beautiful with the green hills and tiny roofs in the distance. But it had also been twinged with loneliness and a feeling that he would never be able to fully have what he wanted. That loneliness was gone now.

"Did I mention how much I've missed you," Nimr whispered.

Roy hummed something, but Nimr could tell he was already dozing. Roy's clothing were slightly rumpled, and the dark circles under his eyes were hard to miss. He thought about where Roy must have been and guilt started building in his chest.

He closed his eyes. He wanted to believe this was it; that after everything there was still hope for them. He wanted to believe so badly.

* * *

"They let me out after a few weeks, but my dad made sure they put me on an anklet. I couldn't go anywhere without permission."

Roy tried to keep the resentment out of his voice but failed. He took a deep breath and refocused his attention on Nimr's window. From their position on the mattress, Roy could just make out the tips of several apartments and green hills. Nimr's room was small and virtually empty, but it felt more like home than anywhere Roy'd been in the last two months.

"I'm sorry," Nimr said.

Roy winced. That's not what he wanted to hear. He didn't want bad memories haunting him from 1000 kilometers away when he had this in front of him.

"It's not your fault."

"I-"

"It's not. I mean it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Roy could feel another wave of anger threatening to spill over, but it faded when Nimr gently pressed his lips to Roy's shoulder. There was a stretch of silence, and Roy pulled himself together.

"My brother's going to spend the next fifteen years in prison."

Roy glanced down at Nimr. He wasn't sure what to say. Back in Israel, they rarely discussed Nimr's family. The last time they did, Roy ended up throwing Nimr out of his apartment. It wasn't a subject he wanted to revisit. But Roy could hear the fear in Nimr's voice.

"That's not going to happen to you. We'll figure this out together," Roy said.

He thought about the card in his wallet. The closest lawyer was an hour or so from here. But then Nimr sighed against his shoulder, and Roy forced his brain to shut off. There were more important things to worry about.

"You're here," Nimr said.

"I'm not leaving."

Nimr bit his lip like he didn't quite believe it. That was okay. Roy wasn't sure he believed it either, but he looked forward to proving it.

Roy tilted his head. Both of his duffles were wedged in the corner of the mostly empty room. Roy didn't know how Nimr lived here for two months. He'd been here less than six hours, and it already felt stifling and cold. But maybe Nimr would let him buy a bedframe or a bookshelf and start making it feel like theirs.

He wasn't stupid. He knew everything could fall apart. The police could arrive and arrest them both at any moment. Or they could break up, and then Roy would have to return to Israel and pick up the remains of his previous life. He didn't want to think about that one.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door followed by an angry female voice speaking French. Roy froze, unsure what to do, but Nimr was already up and grabbing a pair of jeans. Roy watched as he spoke an odd mix of French and what he assumed was Arabic to a young woman in the doorway. She was wearing an apron and holding a bag of flour under her arms.

Nimr seemed calm, so Roy sat up and pulled the sheet against his stomach. A few moments later, the woman peeked through the door at him. Roy tried his best to smile politely and wave. The woman scowled at him and said something to Nimr. Then, she was gone.

"Who was that?"

Nimr sat back on the bed, looking nervous. "My boss."

* * *

"This isn't some dirty club. If you want to have sex with random men, buy your own apartment," Margot said.

Nimr stopped stacking the dishes and turned to Margot. Roy was showering upstairs and washing some of his clothes. Then, Nimr wanted to show Roy around town and maybe they'd even get lunch. Or maybe they'd just spend the day doing nothing. He'd hoped he could slip in quickly and do something nice to make up for the morning. Clearly not.

"Roy's not a one night stand."

"So, he has a name?"

Nimr sighed. He didn't want to have this conversation. This conversation meant talking about Mustafa and Nabil and his mom. He'd always been grateful that Margot never asked questions. It made it easier to locked away the bad memories and pretend they didn't exist.

"I wasn't supposed to come here alone," Nimr finally said.

Margot raised her eyebrow.

"Roy and I were...together in Israel. We were supposed to make a fresh start here, but he didn't make it."

He stopped there, hoping that Margot wouldn't ask questions. She wouldn't allow him to live here, might even report him to the police, if she knew he had a warrant for his arrest. Everything was just finally starting to come together. He didn't want it to fall apart now.

"Do you have any family?" Margot asked.

That wasn't what he expected. He expected some sort of interrogation or at least some more anger. However, he wasn't going to question it.

"A sister," he said.

It felt wrong to lie at this point. He was tempted to mentioned Nabil because for most of Nimr's life, Nabil had been the kind of older brother everyone wanted. But Nabil was one of those memories Nimr locked away. He brought up too many complex emotions and events that Nimr didn't want to explain. And his mom...Nimr couldn't do that.

"I have a twin brother. He's an engineer in Germany," Margot said.

She casually reached for sugar and flour, but Nimr stood still. He didn't want to overstep.

"When my parents discovered I wanted to take a year off of school and travel, they were furious. Can't imagine what they would say if they knew I was baking cupcakes all day."

Nimr clearly saw the peace offering and sighed in relief.

"I'll see you tomorrow, " Margot said.

* * *

"It's nice here," Roy said.

Nimr hummed, dipping his spoon back into the ice cream. He briefly looked out at the town square but turned his head back to Roy. Roy's eyes were fixed on him like Nimr was the most important thing in the world.

Nimr leaned back against the bench, smiling as he handed Roy the ice cream cup. Nimr tried to imagine having this every day; waking up next to another person, going to lunch, and being able to relax. That had never seemed possible even back in Israel. Nimr was constantly looking over his shoulder, guarding his phone, and hoping his family would never find out. But that didn't have to be his future anymore.

He leaned slightly into Roy's shoulder and looked over at the bus pulling away from the station. They didn't have to say anything. It was enough to just be here.

* * *

The first few days after Roy's arrival, Nimr found himself constantly doubting it was real. He'd wake up in the middle of the night, expecting Roy to have disappeared. Or Roy would go into the cereal aisle and Nimr would stop searching for toothpaste and follow him because he'd suddenly feel like he was dreaming again.

It helped that Nimr had a clear view of Roy from the kitchen. Roy had started searching for a job three days after he arrived despite Nimr's protests. Every morning, Roy sat in one of the corner tables with a laptop and a cup of coffee. When he caught Nimr staring at him, which was often, he smiled and winked. Margot thought Roy was distracting and taking up valuable real estate, but Nimr loved being able to look out and see him.

Even the simple things felt strange at first. One afternoon, Nimr was opening the door to their room when he heard the _thump_ of the washing machine. Margot was downstairs, so Nimr stepped into the laundry room to see who was there.

Roy was perched on top of the machine filling out a job application with a pile of clothes next to him. Nimr just stood the doorway a second, staring. When Roy looked up, and he slid the laundry basket towards Nimr.

"Do you want to take these back. The rest should be done in an hour or so."

Roy turned back to his paper, chewing on the edge of his pencil as he studied the application. Nimr looked down at the pile of their t-shirts. It was such a small gesture, but it seemed like some wild proclamation. For the last two months, he gotten used to doing everything alone. He'd forgotten what it was like to have someone there with him.

Nimr grabbed the pile of laundry, trying not to act like Roy's doing laundry was a life altering experience. He was about to turn around when he stopped himself.

"Hey. I love you," Nimr said.

Roy's eyebrows scrunched together, and he tilted his head like he was slightly confused.

"I love you too."

Nimr smiled, taking the laundry back to their room. He looked at the worn dresser that Roy bought from a yard sale. Then, trying to conceal a smile, he started folding their shirts.

* * *

"You sound happier," Abir said.

Nimr smiled into the phone. There was so much he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her about the family who came into the bakery every Wednesday or how the leaves were changing colors. Mostly, he wanted to tell her he wanted alone anymore. But Abir had enough to worry about, and Nimr didn't want to make her an accomplice.

"I am," he finally said.

Abir sighed. "Good. Good...I saw Nabil."

Nimr tried not to break the cup he was trying to clean. He didn't want to think about Nabil. However, Abir was more important than his feelings. She needed someone to talk to, and Nimr was her only option.

"He wouldn't even look at me. Mom kept talking to him, and he nodded along, but it's like he's not there."

Nimr looked out of the kitchen to where Roy was reading the newspaper, probably trying to memorize new vocabulary. He focused on the crease between Roy's brows until he could relax.

"You have to let go, Abir. Nabil made his choices, and you can't fix them."

"I know."

Nimr tried to think of something he could say to make her understand. He wanted Abir to do what she'd promised. He wanted her to be top of her class, working at a better life. That's what he'd dreamed about until he fell into Nabil's chaos. But Abir didn't have to end up like him.

"You have the chance to do everything right. You can go to school, get married, have a career...anything. You can be more than me and Nabil."

Abir was silent.

"I want you to promise me that...that this won't be your future. Promise you won't let us pull you down too."

"I promise."

* * *

Their first date was a disaster from the moment they stepped out the door. Roy had made reservations at the one restaurant in town, and Nimr had tried his best to relax all day. However, he'd dropped a stack of plates when Margot briefly mentioned that Nimr should start getting dressed. It was stupid. He shouldn't be nervous about going on a date with his boyfriend.

That was what he told himself as he stepped through the restaurant doors and sat at the table. The restaurant was more crowded than Nimr expected, and he reached for a glass of water to calm his nerves. Roy was smiling, and Nimr did his best to smile back.

Nimr glanced over Roy's shoulder but ducked his head when he realized he knew one of the men at the front table. It shouldn't have been a big deal. Nimr didn't care if people knew he and Roy were together. He didn't. France wasn't Israel. No one was going to knock down his door or put a gun to his head.

"Are you okay," Roy asked.

"Fine. Fine."

Nimr took another sip of water. He didn't want to ruin the entire night. They were supposed to be normal now. Normal meant going on dates. Normal meant holding hands in public. Normal meant not worrying every moment that someone might be watching you, judging you.

Thankfully, a waiter stopped in front of them, breaking Nimr's concentration. However, when Roy reached for his hand, Nimr flinched away. It was instinctual.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

It wasn't okay, and they both knew it. Roy tapped his fingers against the table, clearly trying to distract Nimr from the thoughts in his head. The man from the front table got up, and Nimr shamefully ducked his head.

"This was a bad idea," Roy said.

"I'm so-"

"Stop. Just stop."

Roy leaned forward on the table with an expression Nimr couldn't read. He braced himself for the look of disappointment. Roy had to leave his entire life-his family, his friends-behind because of Nimr. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint him.

"This is my fault. Sometimes I forget you grew up in a place where this...this would have gotten you killed. It's alright. We'll get there eventually."

Nimr relaxed, and Roy placed some cash on the table. He motioned for Nimr to follow him, and they ducked out of the restraunt just as the waiter return to their table.

Once they were outside, Nimr felt like he could breathe. There were a few lamps, but for the most part the street was shrouded in darkness. Roy motioned for him to follow, and they walked down the street in silence. Nimr knew he should say something, maybe apologize again, but he couldn't think of anything.

Roy stopped in front of the grocery store, holding the door for Nimr to enter. He stepped inside, curling his hands into fists. After everything they went through, it wasn't supposed to be like this.

The grocery store was empty, and the lights were starting to turn off for the night. Roy wandered around in the aisles while Nimr waited at the door. He nodded at the grocer, who clearly was not pleased Roy was preventing him from closing.

A few seconds later, Roy emerged from the freezer section and handed the grocer a few euros. Roy smiled and held up two ice-cream sandwiches as they exited the store.

"This is not dinner," Nimr said.

"It's better."

Nimr was pretty sure he was going to end up raiding the pantry later, but Roy was smiling again so Nimr went along with it.

"Is this okay?" Roy asked.

Nimr tilted his head on confusion until he saw Roy's outstretched hand. Nimr didn't even hesitant to slide their hands together and curl his fingers tight. Maybe he couldn't handle a date around a swarm of people he didn't know. But this, when it was just the two of them, he could do this forever.

"Yea. This is more than okay."

* * *

Roy was really trying to learn French. He stayed up late reviewing grammar and did his best to talk to as many people as he could. However, he was nowhere near proficient. It was infuriating. He continually looked for jobs, but no one wanted to hire a man who could only truly speak Hebrew.

Most days, he felt useless. He'd always wanted to be able to support and care for the people around him. He was used to providing. But he couldn't work without a valid visa, and he was no position to start talking to human rights lawyers.

After one month, Roy had enough of sitting at the library or sightseeing while Nimr worked. He wanted to be doing something. So, on a bright Tuesday morning, he caught the ten am bus for the city.

Although he was quickly learning to love Villeurseau, Roy had spent his life in Tel Aviv. He missed the cars, the lights, the noise. There was something comforting about walking down a busy sidewalk, full of people and excitement.

He was thinking about buying takeout for dinner when he saw a synagogue. The stone building had been wedged in between an apartment complex and a parking structure. He wouldn't have even noticed it except for the banner across the doorway that said _Welcome_ in Hebrew. It was the first time he'd seen anything written in Hebrew since he'd arrived.

The bus was supposed to leave in 20 minutes, but Roy couldn't help but go up the stairs. The noise of the city was swallowed the moment the wooden doors shut. He saw a few people moving about the lobby, but he avoided eye contact and simply enjoyed wandering around the building, looking at the stone walls and inscriptions.

He was never going to regret coming to France. But he'd changed countries, languages, and cultures all in the span of one week. Most of the time, he felt like he was constantly working to keep his head above water. He missed feeling like he belonged.

However, some things didn't change no matter how far he went. Despite the French signs, a synagogue in France was not that much more different than Israel. Without any noise, he could imagine he was in Tel Aviv again. It was peaceful.

"Bonjour! Est-ce que je peux t'aider trouver quel-que chose?" A voice said.

Roy opened his eyes to see a rabbi standing in front of him. He stood frozen for a second, unsure how to respond. He didn't want to run away and draw attention to himself.

So, he smiled and slowly backed away. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Forgive me. We have a small community, and I noticed you looking rather lost."

The rabbi spoke clearly and calmly, and Roy instantly relaxed.

"I just moved here. I'm still finding my way around."

"Mm. Where are you from?"

"Tel Aviv."

"Ah. Our city is not quite as spectacular, but I hope you'll find it interesting."

Roy nodded. It felt nice to talk with someone else besides Nimr. He and Margot could have brief conversations when Nimr translated. However, she was always suspicious.

Roy glanced at his watch as the rabbi proceed to talk about the cafe down the street. The bus was going to leave in ten minutes. He knew he should politely duck out before Nimr started worrying. However, he couldn't force himself to step away. It was the first time he'd had a conversation with someone who knew nothing about him or how he ended up here.

So, he stayed.

* * *

It didn't feel real until a random Friday afternoon. Roy had started going into the city almost every day, so Nimr didn't see him until six o'clock. However, they still managed to eat lunch together once a week. At first, they started by eating on the hill. But slowly, they'd migrated to the town. Most of the time now they ate on bench on the fringe of town square.

"How was your day?" Nimr asked, passing Roy the macaroni container.

"Good. The synagogue wants to hire me. It'll be mostly accounting and manager stuff until I learn the language. But they have connections."

Roy's smile was obvious as he reached inside the brown bag and handed Nimr one of the sandwiches. Nimr tried not to look as relieved as he felt. He'd worried that Roy would get bored of France. Roy lost a promising career to move to a small room that barely had room for both of them. Sometimes Nimr wondered if he was going to be enough. Roy could move back to Israel without a second thought if he wanted.

"We should go to the coast this weekend. I think we both deserve a vacation," Roy said.

"I have to work this weekend. Margot's making two wedding cakes."

Roy leaned back on the bench, but didn't stop smiling. "Next weekend then."

"Next weekend."

That was the moment Nimr realized there was no more traveling countries or running from the police. He didn't wake up in the mornings thinking that Roy was some figment of his imagination. Tonight, they'd have dinner or go to a movie. In the morning Nimr would wake up with Roy crushing his side. And that didn't seem strange anymore.

"Hey," Roy gently tugged on the edge of Nimr's shirt.

Roy wasn't smiling anymore, and Nimr's heart dropped.

"I have to go back to Israel for a while. The synagogue is going to sponsor me for a visa, but I have to file the paperwork in Israel. It'll be a month, two at the most."

Nimr closed his eyes. He'd been expecting that. The both of them couldn't live as fugitives, so it was inevitable that Roy had to go back.

"It's only two months."

"I know."

He refused to think about how two months was the length of time he'd been here alone, thinking that Roy was never going to show up. But this time, he knew Roy was coming back. They could call or email when they wanted. Logically, he knew it wasn't the same. That didn't make it hurt less.

"When do you leave?" Nimr asked.

"A week and a half. It's only two months."

Nimr sighed and let his head drop onto Roy's shoulder. If Roy was going to be gone in ten days, Nimr was going to enjoy every moment of it. He could handle two months. He'd done it before.

* * *

Nimr was mindlessly filling out the expense report for the month when something hit his cheek. He spun around to see Margot glaring at him. In one hand she was balancing a tray of croissants and in the other she was holding an apron.

"Put this on," Margot said.

She shook the apron at him and then handed him a pink notecard with the muffin recipe on it.

"If your going to be sad, you might as do something productive while you're at it."

"Sorry."

Nimr tried his best to smile as he looped the paron over his head, but it was useless. He couldn't even get past the first line on the card without wanting to chuck it across the room. He and Roy were supposed to talk that morning, but Roy had gotten called away. Again. Nimr knew that he was just trying to get references and names of law firms that might eventually hire him in France. But they hadn't had time to talk in three days.

The visa process was supposed to take a month, but a month had passed two weeks ago. Roy had warned him that the bureaucracy was unpredictable and slow, but Nimr had let himself hope for the best. He missed falling asleep on Roy's chest or eating breakfast with someone other than Margot. When Roy stepped out of the bakery last month, he took any semblance of warmth and comfort with him. Until he came back, Nimr couldn't step foot in their bedroom without feeling like he was suffocating.

Roy left him with the names and addresses of several human right's lawyers, and Nimr knew he should start asking. It would take a weight off of his chest, and maybe bring some comfort to Abir. But Nimr couldn't imagine trying to talk about Israel or lawyers without Roy.

He turned his attention back to the muffin recipe. He just wanted Roy to come back.

* * *

The bus was twelve minutes late. Nimr stuffed his hands back in his jacket pockets to stop himself from staring at the tiny dials on his watch. Then he forced himself to take a deep breathe and look away from the road. He ran his fingers along the folded paper in his pocket and reminded himself that Roy was coming back. The bus was going to arrive here soon, and then Roy would be standing in front of him.

Fourteen minutes later, Nimr saw the bus turning the corner and squeal as slowed to a stop in front of him. It took everything in him not to rush to the door before they even opened. But he stood still, scanning the deboarding passengers.

Roy must have spotted him first because by the time Nimr saw the tuft of brown hair, Roy was engulfing him in a warm hug.

"Three months is too long," Nimr mumbled.

"I don't have to do it again."

Roy pulled back a little, grinning and holding up a small documents that Nimr recognized as his visa. He looked at the document for a moment, letting the relief wash over him.

"How about we go back," Roy said, tugging on Nimr's hand.

Nimr smiled, but pulled Roy in the opposite direction. "I want to show you something."

Roy raised his eyebrows, but Nimr stayed quiet. He'd be planning this for over a month, trying to distract himself from Roy's absence. He knew there was nothing to be nervous about. They both wanted this. But his stomach still turned over a few times as he lead Roy down the street.

Villserous was full of tiny alleyways and cobblestone paths that branched off of the main square. He turned at the fourth alley, right after the flower shop. Nimr stopped in front of a wooden building, dotted with a dozen windows. Bright flower pots were clearly nestled in multiple window seals, and Nimr smelled someone baking.

"What are we looking at?" Roy asked.

Nimr removed the paper from his pocket and handed it to Roy without saying a word. He focused on far left window on the third story. The window was completely dark. The last owners had left months ago, and no one had moved in since.

"It's not much bigger than where we are now, but it has a kitchen and room to spread out. Plus, we won't have to share a bathroom with Margot," Nimr said.

Nimr waited for Roy to respond. But when there was nothing, he continued rambling, ignoring the drop in his stomach.

"It would be your name on the lease, obviously. But we can split the rent evenly between our two paychecks. The people say utilities aren't too high, and the noise is low."

He finally glanced over at Roy. He was smiling in that way that always made Nimr forget everything else.

"When could we move in?"

"Friday if you want."

Roy laughed, and Nimr thought that was the best sound he'd heard in two months. Roy turned to him, gently reaching out to cup Nimr's neck.

"What do you think?" Nimr asked.

"I think it sounds perfect."

Nimr leaned against Roy's forehead and smiled. Perfect. That sounded nice.


	8. Family

_A year and a half later…_

Nimr paced in front of the car, occasionally glancing across the parking lot to the white doors. Every time the doors slid open, his stomach dropped as he carefully scanned the crowd. The longer he waited, the more he felt like he was going to explode.

He wanted to wait inside, but Roy reminded him that crowded buildings with cameras were exactly the place the police might find him. They'd met with a human rights lawyer, and she thought Nimr had a solid chance of getting the terrorist charges against him dismissed. Nabil, probably more out of disgust than love, didn't mention Nimr during his trial, so his involvement was hard to prove. The only caveat, the only thing preventing him from being a free man, was the assault charge.

Nimr spent a lot of nights wishing he'd just kept running. If he hadn't picked up that board, then he and Roy wouldn't still be dealing with lawyers and police. Maybe they could have moved on by now. Nimr could be back in school, and Roy could stop worrying. But he couldn't change what he'd done.

The lawyer thought that if Nimr exchanged the names of Nabil's "co-conspirators", he could bargain his way out of the charge. She said that the Israeli government was much more interested in pursuing active threats, and Nimr should leverage the knowledge he had. From there, he had a good shot at a student visa.

It wasn't something Nimr took lightly. He'd known some of Nabil's friends since he was a child. He remembered having dinner with their families and the way everyone supported his mother when his father died. They weren't always interested in violence and weapons. Most of them graduated from college with plans for a future. At some point, Nimr had wanted to be just like them.

But then he looked at Roy and the life they'd built together over the last year and a half. The apartment felt like a home now; their bookshelf was an odd mix of law and psychology texts, and every morning he woke up curled against Roy's side. Roy had worked at the synagogue for eight months before he found employment at a small law firm. Nimr still worked at the bakery, but he had caught up on his studies. It was a real life. He couldn't imagine giving that up for people who wanted him dead.

A hand firmly grabbed the back of his neck, and Nimr stopped walking.

"Just relax," Roy said.

Nimr rolled his shoulders and looked at his watch to calm down. They still had a lot to figure out. But right now, he had something more important to focus on. He glanced across the parking lot again. The plane should have landed twenty minutes ago. Twenty minutes was more than enough time to cross the airport.

He refused to dive into the cloud of negative thoughts in his head. Instead, he focused his attention on Roy. For the first time, he noticed that he wasn't the only one feeling anxious. The last time Roy looked that tense, they'd been standing outside the lawyer's office. Nimr gently nudged Roy's hand to get his attention.

"Just relax," Nimr repeated.

"Maybe it would be better if I waited in the car. Or I could drive around for a while, and you could call me when you're done. "

"No...I want you here."

Nimr tried to smile reassuringly even though he was just as nervous as Roy. Maybe it was stupid to bring him along, but he couldn't imagine sitting here alone. Nimr took a deep breath and looked towards the doors. Another crowd of people emerged, and Nimr refocused.

He spotted Abir instantly. They may have spent nearly two years apart, but Nimr knew his sister anywhere. Before she even looked up, Nimr was halfway across the parking lot, trying not break into a sprint. But when Abir saw him, she dropped her suitcase and ran straight into his arms.

"I've missed you so much," Abir sibbed, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

"Missed you too."

Nimr squeezed her tightly. When he left Israel, he didn't think he'd ever see Abir again. Even when they started talking, an actually visit seemed like a wild dream. They'd been planning this trip for a month. After all the phone calls and canceled plans, he started to think it was just a fantasy.

"Top of the class, just like I promised."

"I remember. I'm proud of you."

Abir finally let go of him, and Nimr smiled at her. She looked so much like the girl Nimr left behind. Her face looked older and slightly worn, but when she smiled at him, and it felt like nothing had changed. It was like they were back to their house, sitting across the table from each other as they ate breakfast.

"I was so worried. But you look good. Really really good," Abir said.

Nimr smiled. He wanted to ask about her friends and school, but But for the first time, they didn't have to cram their conversations between Abir's classes or Nimr's job. They had a two weeks to just enjoy being together.

"If you want, I thought we could drive a few towns over for some dinner and sightseeing. It's not like anything we had back home."

What Nimr really wanted her to see was the apartment, his new home. Abir spent too much time worrying that Nimr was alone and unhappy. He wanted her to see that the life he'd built was better than anything he would have had in Israel. Mostly, he wanted Abir to know that she had a place to go. If she needed wanted to go to school in France or just needed to get away, she had a home too.

"As long as I get to spend time with you, I don't care where we go. I just have call mom every night before bed. She thinks I'm traveling with Hana's family."

Nimr reached for Abir's suitcase and started guiding her to the car. It didn't hurt to talk about his mom like it used to, but it wasn't something he wanted to dwell on.

"I brought you some pastries. I can actually cook now," Nimr said.

"I'll believe it when I see it."

Nimr smiled, pausing to wait for a car exiting the parking lot. He looked away from Abir for a moment and saw Roy leaning against the car. For the first time, Nimr wasn't sure he should have come. Nimr had mentioned Roy a few times during their phone calls, but only in vague details. His stomach dropped as thought of ways to explain to Abir exactly who Roy was. It wasn't like he could just ask Roy to leave their home for two weeks. But he didn't know what he'd do if Abir reacted like his mother. He didn't want to lose his sister too.

Roy stood up straight as Nimr and Abir stopped in front of him. Roy stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled, clearly trying not to look anxious.

"Abir, this is-"

"Roy,'' Abir said.

Roy's eyes widened, and he looked at Nimr for support. But Nimr wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't read Abir's face, and that scared him. She wriggled her hands together like she was nervous but didn't say anything. She looked at Nimr and bit her lip. Nimr was frozen.

Then, Abir took a deep breath and stepped towards Roy. She dropped her hands to her side and rolled her shoulders back. Abir didn't look nervous anymore as she made eye contact with Roy.

"Thank you for loving my brother."

End.


End file.
